ST. LOUIS, MO - Last Friday evening, a one car accident on I-70 claimed the life of inventor Albert Moody. He was 104.
Since the early-Fifties, Moody had been working on a way to improve the way Americans sleep. Moody was known for being a boisterous bastard, obsessed with the design of the mattress. Until Friday, it was also believed that he was very old. He believed that all improvements regarding sleek-styling, comfort, and economy had already been made. So Moody sought to make beds faster.
Sadly, he failed miserably. Beds, generally speaking, do not move.

Private Jan Phillips yawned lazily, inhaling the crisp autumn air as she leaned against the observation platform's railing atop Communications Relay Tower #19. She looked out at the expanse of rolling hills and deciduous trees between her and the cold granite mountains to the north, and wished for all the world that something would happen. It was the third day of the fourth month of her current tour of duty, only two months remaining until her next heartily anticipated two-week leave of absence. Only two more months; she could hardly wait.

COQUETTE!!!®
Thank you for purchasing another fine Shlotco© product. We are confident this game will provide you and your family or friends with countless hours of amusement. Remember: it’s only a game if it says Shlotco©.
NECESSARY PIECES:
One Coquette!!!® gameboard
52 Coquette!!!® game cards
25 Broken Heart Cards©
One six-sided die
Six game pieces (Green Heartbreaker©, Brown Hussy©, Purple Philanderer©, Yellow Siren©, Teal Temptress©, and Violet Vamp©)
One box of Coquette!!!® tissues (for the losers, of course)
OBJECT:

OKAY, SO PUFFED IS ABOUT THIS KID TRAPPED IN A DRAGON COSTUME IN THE MIDDLE OF SHITSVILLE, LATE AT NIGHT. NO, HE DOESN'T LIVE THERE. HE GOT BEAT UP AND DUMPED THERE. NO, I CAN'T TELL YOU HOW. WELL, THERE'S A BAD GUY-- SORT OF. NO, HE DOESN'T FLY! WELL, YES, IT'S A COMIC BOOK. BUT-- DAMMIT! WHY DON'T YOU JUST READ THIS INTERVIEW DEBBIE DID WITH JOHN LAYMAN AND DAVE CROSLAND! THEY MADE THE DAMN THING. THEY CAN PROBABLY EXPLAIN IT BETTER.
Debbie: Are you both there?

I’m lying on my rack with my hands clasped behind my head, staring at the stark white ceiling and the alabaster walls of my quasi-home, babbling to myself for the company it brings, just to hear a human voice. I used to try to keep my mind sharp by asking myself questions and answering them. But then I started arguing with myself, so now I don’t even finish my sentences,.. they just trail off, because I am forgetting how to speak. I can’t remember any songs. If I could, I would sing them.

Midnight on a flight, headed toward Amber City; shadows crawling along the wing slip through the porthole and lay their long, cool black fingers over my face. Sensors beyond the walls picked up the impossible; a lone soul on radar, squatting, moving among the ruins.
The City was shut down 100 years ago, maybe more. Time just slowed down one day, out of nowhere. People were frozen in their tracks.

The long exodus out. Refined and stalled and not quite sure. This too vivid piece of day smacks of spite and grit. This distance covered by the two of us is formed up and solid. The only sure thing now is a daydream of some other piece of tomorrow, packed in and filled up with the laughter of two small children. They will smile just like their mom. They will look at the sky with quiet contemplation. This they got from me. We will have given it to them in our best, lazy, Sunday conversation. Will away all these hard things that creep into a tired and tried out mind.