Coming to Eat Gingerbread Houses near you!

A foghorn-voiced dramatist blared about a father and son trudging through a blizzard of radioactive ash. The Road played on Royce’s audio app, but only for a moment. Preservation of low iPhone battery power outweighed listening pleasure. The last three hours of the fictional Road would have to wait until he finished the real road before him.

hungry? Have some troll food.

“Weather’s shitty,” Dunbar said to his son Harwood.

“Just some fog,” Harwood said, bending over to lace up his running shoes.

“Lotta fog. Cold too,” Dunbar sniffled. A slimy mug emerged from the kitchen sink and slid into his swollen, arthritic hands. Around here, coffee didn’t wait for clean cups.