The Pattern

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Chasing wild geese is sweaty, frustrating work for a mid-July steam-bath. I waited my turn at the counter of the bookstore, not hopeful that the ordeal would pay off.

“Problem?” the clerk asked at last.

“I can’t find any science fiction magazines. I’m starting to wonder if you still carry them.”

“Yeah,” the clerk said, heading for the magazine racks. “Think we carry one called Science Fiction… uh… something.”

He started looking, but I had already guessed which one: Science Fiction for Short Attention Spans. Submissions of one to three thousand words, for which it paid a penny a word.

“I was really hoping you had Amazing or Fantasy and Science Fiction,” I said. “I think you carried them last year.”

He paused in his search of the disorganized rack. “Uh, I think I’ve heard of them. Don’t remember ever carrying either one.”

I looked him over. At his age, he probably hadn’t been in the workforce over six months. “How about Asimov’s? I’m sure you were carrying that one as recently as a couple of months ago.”

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