As good as Cactus was with names, he'd never gotten round to naming his 'zine. He sat on the first issue as long as he could, maintaining his indecision by telling the staff, "Let's just give it a random new name every month." They explained to him calmly that this idea sucked. "Fine," he said, at the very last moment scrawling "THE 'ZINE" across the top of the first page. Then of course all other 'zine writers in the city smacked their heads--why hadn't they thought of that? Cactus was now publishing the definitive example of the genre.
The publisher and editor-in-chief of the 'zine above all 'zines drummed his fingers on his seat, which, Media Vita being heavily Goth, was a reclaimed church pew. He was campaigning for a social consciousness slant for the June issue. "Racism," he announced. "Black-white relations in this city. Let's take that on."
Shy, Retiring Sort rolled her eyes.
"What?" Cactus demanded.
"Look around this table. Are there any black people on this staff?"
He shifted uncomfortably in his pew.
"Have you ever even been to a black person's house?"
"Well, no."
She grinned with all her teeth. "You've just nominated yourself to write the cover story."
* * *
Puncshal had stuck the cork on too far. It was one of those horrid corks, too--plastic, thick. It was too thick to pierce with the corkscrew, an idea he had tried after he discovered he could gain no purchase trying to twist it off. There was, finally, only one option. He considered the task before him with more concentration than he'd given any physics exam. In fact, he would have felt more able to face this challenge had he paid more attention to those physics exams...
He set the bottle down and leaned forward in his chair, resting his chin on his palm and tapping his upper lip with his forefinger. Yes. It was his only option. Yes, he had to do it. He refused to leave that last third of sparkling apple cider left undrunk. There were things he could do to improve his odds. He fetched a strainer (to catch shards of glass before they could get into his cup) and some duct tape. He wrapped the duct tape around the bottle just below the neck, hoping this left less potential for disaster. Then he headed for the basement to find a hammer.