t was freezing. We gave some readings with parkas and goggles on a few outposts. There were a few indignant military people, some scientists, and a bunch of penguins.

And it was nearly imposssible to smoke anything. Lighters were unresponsive and our lips kept getting stuck to the aluminum bowl we'd smuggled in in a hollowed-out copy of the anthology. Scott's lips soon resembled steak tartar as he continued to try to defy the cold. Even more disturbing were the small pieces of bloody skin frozen to the pipe stem.

"What genius booked this gig?" Dirk snarled, taking over the role of "The Surly One" while William went searching for lip balm.

A flurry of lighter clicks. "Ouch! Goddammit."

Suddenly, from the swirling whiteout: penguins. Our reading would have an audience after all.