MAP TOOLS A voice announced, "The crematorium is closing now. Please, everyone, proceed to the new infirmary." So I did, and voila – my liver spots were cured! Now I have to figure out what to do with all these El Producto boxes of map tools my grandfather left me, from his vast estate. Pilot Bill may want them, the poor old cluck; restoring a steamboat must challenge the nostrils. That's what he was doing before Viv cried, "Pass me a Mergenthaler, I'm going down. The sea is really green over here. Bill?" Then she became one with something dark, and I was just finishing the lighting of the lamps, so I could just barely see her from here. You see, I had burned a notch out of my nail with the torch, so the air smelled like lemons, and my heart felt all bombed out, the way it does when someone you vaguely know dies suddenly, and you wonder what must keep the stars on their spindles, or what keeps the tickers clacking in rows along the street. Aaron Belz