An older couple moves to a nearly-deserted development around a bright red, man-made lake.

(from McSweeney’s 32)

This was a different kind of story for Wells Tower, a sort of Stephen King meets Charles Bukowski deal, maybe. As strange as this is, the really really weird stuff will probably happen a hundred pages past the place “Raw Water” ends. But then we’d be looking at purer breed of genre fiction, a regular old horror story. I wouldn’t have minded seeing how this whole mess ends, but I understand the author’s desire to call it quits early. The conclusion is predetermined, even if it isn’t written.
Tomorrow McSweeney’s #33 comes out. I’m looking forward to their version of a newspaper.