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“But, Dear Heart,” protested Duke to his wife. He poured himself a second tumbler of peach vodka, “I don’t wanna sit in God’s Waiting Room,” He slugged down the libation.

“You agreed to move when you retired,” she reminded him. “And then when you retired, you said you’d move when you turned 75.”

Duke scowled.

“And then you said you’d move after the cat died. Well, Bob passed away three weeks ago, so I sold our home, signed the lease with The Village, and here we are. And here,” she said with finality, “is where we’re gonna stay.”

Duke sighed in defeat, then sniffed the air suspiciously.

“What’s that smell?” he asked.

Sally sniffed and shrugged. “New carpet?”

“I’m getting a headache,” Duke complained.

“Well, suck it up,” Sally told him. So it was that Duke Hawes and his comely wife Sally finally moved into The Village, an apartment complex that stretched its corridors like the arms of an octopus over four acres of land in a gated community.

~~

It was evening, weeks later, and the smell from the carpet had ameliorated somewhat, but Duke still got headaches. He sat before his laptop and typed an email to his writer friend from flyover territory in the American Midwest.

January 30, 2026

Dear J.T.:

How is the writing coming? I’ll be happy to beta your work if you’ll gamma mine. Maybe we could collaborate. Get back to me.

Duke

~~

Duke waited edgily for two days, but J.T. didn’t answer his email. So, Duke filed another short story submission, this one with an editor he’d had a professional relationship with for ten years.

February 1, 2026

Dear Joyce:

Attached please find my new sub, “Letter from a Birmingham Village.” I know the title is kind of a ripoff of MLK Jr., but he won’t mind. I hope I got the address right.

Take care,

Duke

Almost immediately, Duke’s monitor flickered with a response.

Dear Duke,

This is NOT the proper email address. It is my personal home address. How the hell did you get it? I don’t consider submissions to this address. Submit it to the proper email. Shitheel!

Duke sat and blinked at the screen in bewilderment. What could have gotten into Joyce? he wondered. He rolled his shoulders. His headaches were getting worse, and he felt a vague sense of ennui.

Shrugging, he next wrote another email to JT.

February 1, 2026

Dear JT:

I subbed a story to Joyce C., and she bit my f**king head off. Said it went to the wrong email address, and I’d have to resend it. Well, I won’t be treated like that. I’ll rescind it instead! Heh heh. Sally and I moved into a retirement complex several weeks ago. I hate my life!

Duke

~~

February 5, 2026

Dear JT:

Joyce C. still didn’t accept my story, the b***h. I’m through with her magazine. I’ll never darken her door again!

Duke

~~

February 7, 2026

Hi Duke,

I submitted a short story to Joyce C.’s magazine, and it was accepted! I thought she hated me over our dust-up at that other magazine she used to work for. Guess all is forgiven. Sometimes she’s sort of a tough nut to crack, you know. Are you submitting anywhere else lately?

JT

~~

March 1, 2026

Dear JT:

Don’t know if I mentioned it, but Joyce C. refused to even open the email attachment I sent, because she said I sent it to the wrong freaking address. What a crock of shit. She lives just a couple of hundred miles away, so we are both Pacific Northwesterners. I thought that counted for something, but I guess not. I’ll not send any more stories to her if that’s the way she’s going to be. Sally won’t let me out of our apartment. She has me shackled to our waterbed. The chains are always gone by morning, but I know she’s doing it.

Duke

~~

March 7, 2026

Dear Duke,

Yeah, you told me about Joyce and the confusion over the submission. Why don’t you just write her an email and get things straightened out? You’ve been friends and practically neighbors for years. You don’t want to lose that.

JT

~~

March 9, 2026

Dear JT:

Joyce C. still hasn’t gotten back to me about my submission, and it’s been at least a month. I guess she’s still wearing a hard-on over my sending a story to the wrong address. Chick should get a grip! I spent 11 hours in the park next to The Village, exsanguinating English ivy. I hate my life. I’m thinking of becoming a professional sponge diver.

Duke

~~

March 11, 2026

Dear Duke,

My story appeared in Quazar, Joyce’s zine, today. Why don’t you check it out and leave a comment?

JT

~~

March 14, 2026

Dear JT:

I don’t read Joyce or her shitty magazine anymore because of the way she dissed me back in the day. But for you, I might check it out, leave a comment. We’ll see.

Duke

~~

March 18, 2026

Dear Joyce,

Duke seems upset with you. I know you two are good friends of long-standing, and I hate to see any misunderstanding blow up into a real problem. He seems to think you disrespected him. Is there anything I can do to mediate the dispute?

JT

~~

April 18, 2026

Dear JT,

There’s nothing you can do. Nothing that needs doing. Duke just has thin skin. He’ll get over it in time. Or he won’t.

Joyce

~~

March 20, 2026

Dear Duke,

I wrote to Joyce, and she emailed me back. There is no great problem between you two, no actual hard feelings. She said you’re only being a little thin-skinned. I think any misunderstanding you had will just blow over.

JT

~~

March 22, 2026

Dear JT:

Now Joyce has insulted me: thin-skinned! Where the f**k does she get off? Did she really say that or are you two conspiring against me? I don’t know who to trust nowadays. I hate my life!

Duke

~~

March 23, 2026

Dear Duke,

I thought you’d be relieved that Joyce only said you were a little sensitive. Did she actually say anything more to you when you exchanged emails?

JT

~~

March 24, 2026

Dear JT:

Sensitive? We got along fine until you ratted Joyce out to me about the insults she leveled against me. I think you’re sucking up to Joyce just to get published. Can’t effing trust anyone.

Duke

~~

April 2, 2026

Hey, Duke,

Long time no hear. I got another story published in Quazar this morning. Take a look at it. Make a comment this time, won’t you? Joyce will probably be glad to hear from you. Prove there are no hard feelings.

JT

~~

April 4, 2026

Dear Quazar Mag:

I stopped reading Joyce C. and Quazar months ago, ever since JT told me of the copious insults she leveled against me. She is an evil woman! I didn’t even read JT’s story, if you wanna know the truth.

Duke

~~

April 4, 2026

Dear JT:

I don’t know if I ever mentioned it, but Joyce, my former editor, attacked me when I submitted a story to her. Then you told me how she insulted me. I have to go now, I have a doctor’s appointment. Sally is driving me.

Duke

~~

April 10, 2026

Dear JT,

I’ve never spoken to you, but you know Duke Hawes, my husband, with whom you’ve been corresponding. He saw a neurologist last week. He took a cognitive exam. He failed it. At first, the doc thought Duke had the beginnings of dementia, but he did some blood tests and found out that his system was loaded with volatile organic compounds (VOCs), probably from the new carpet in our apartment. We’re moving. Our old home is still on the market, and we’re staying in a motel till we can make the move. Thank you for understanding Duke’s wild mood swings. He’ll be in touch.

Sally