A THOUSAND MILLING BODIES choked the path ahead to that steel door at the far end of the concourse. That unmarked and unremarkable door. The flashing orange teardrop — soon to turn red — bobbed above that door, taunting. “Not my fault,” she muttered to herself as though anyone around…

She had been warned, but now it was too late. The limb already displayed signs of infestation and her stump threatened infection. She re-sealed her satchel then the barkeep removed it. She watched him bury it in the ice-tub, noted his absent smile. Her stump tingled of resuming pain. Could…