Philip Carson sat alone in his small two-bedroom home, the glowing television his only illumination and companion.  Like his sister less than a mile away, he held a beer in his hand that was one sip shy of empty, and now warm to boot.  His life was a rutted wagon track of work, beer, and TV.  Maybe it’s time to take another trip sideways, he thought.  Where he went wasn’t usually any better, but at least it was different.  Maybe I should have made better choices in my youth.

A grim smile creased his face.  His first choice of any consequence landed him in the nut barn, and it slid steadily downhill from there.  It took most of a year to convince the soft-headed doctors he was well enough to leave, and it was only through a massive...

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