Domenic Migliore has no interest in making you feel better. Entering his world comes with risks. But, then again, so does living in ours. His writing is a cracked rock bouncing down a grungy hill: the speed of the descent leads to blur; the accumulation of nasty debris is unavoidable. In one tale, a father tells his son, "You don't go fudging around with the factory presets." In Migliore's storyworlds, the presets are as unreliable as experimentation...