The rain had been falling hard for most of the evening, hammering the windshield in waves, sweeping

sideways when the wind picked up. The wipers couldn't keep up. I kept one hand steady on the wheel,

while the other balanced the warm pizza box across my thigh.

It had come from one of those new vending machine setups, some gimmicky start-up people had started ordering from.

The machines handled everything.

Order, prep, box and seal.

My eyes bounced between it and the road.

I couldn't help wondering what made this so popular.

The car jolted hard over a speed bump I hadn't seen in the rain, and I felt something

slide off my lap.

I looked down.

One of the slices had slipped halfway out the box and landed right across my lap. I looked down. One of the slices had slipped halfway out the box and landed right across my thigh.

I pulled over and brought the car to a crawl, glancing down again. My shirt was soaked in red.

I lifted the slice by the crust, and somehow it looked perfect. Hardly any source was missing

from the surface. The rest of it must have been some excess pooling at the bottom of the box.

It didn't smell like pizza, though I couldn't tell exactly what the liquid on me smelled like.

Some weird oil they used.

The sauce hadn't changed the slice's appearance.

I pushed it back in with the others.

It looked perfect to me, so I figured the customers wouldn't complain.

I wipe my fingers against the side of the seat and closed the box again.

I pulled up to the curb outside the modest two-story house, headlights cutting through the

...