Space station Zeta Orionis was, it must be admitted, a strange place. Not only was it located on the far fringes of known space, many light years from Earth, it also had been designed by an exceedingly eccentric architect known only by his initials, NTBFW. This man, or woman—no one was sure which—must have had a grudge against the conglomerate that commissioned the station, because it was designed and built in such a way that it resembled an obese chihuahua. It was well known at the time that the CEO of the conglomerate, Ms. Francine von Chew, had accidentally killed just such a pet when she forgot to outfit the dog in its custom tailored space suit, and the dog—Pepe—subsequently exploded when Ms. von Chew left her gigantic mansion on Mars to take Pepe for a walk.

Delia scrunched her eye up to the peephole and watched Rodney’s tiny rounded figure rock and toddle its way up the sidewalk, growing larger step by step. She took note of the fact that his cardigan buttons weren’t aligned, leaving a triangle-like flap to dangle at the bottom. But by the time he was large enough to fill the circle of glass, she’d determined not to care about that. Men in this town were scarce, and she’d snagged one. Imperfections be damned.

My pleasant day began with Peter at the front desk, a delightful young man. Notes of turmeric and cardamon, and just the right balance of heat; chicken tikka masala and saag paneer, I believe. It’s a shame he struggled so much, those injuries were totally avoidable.

Hey Cody,

How cute! I’ve never heard of that before. Dr. Silverman wants you to bring your cat in for an exam.

-Sincerely,

Sierra

Twin Pines Animal Hospital

The classroom wall is a journal
that spurns me day after day.
These editors, I swear to God—

Please stop writing about death.
Is everything okay at home?

(How could anything be okay anywhere?)