‘Down the Pipe’ by Cara Masten DiGirolamo

Between the Spaces

What if you could see the future, and it did you no good at all? Step off the highway into the rest stop of ‘Down the Pipe’ by Cara Masten DiGirolamo. Read an excerpt of below, and be sure to pick up a copy of Issue 51, Summer 2026, to read this story in full!

Down the Pipe

by Cara Masten DiGirolamo

Off the highway near Eelkill sits a hexagonal building called a ‘Travel Plaza’. Though theoretically it’s open 24-7, most of the shops inside close around nine, and we put ‘out of order’ or ‘closed for cleaning’ signs in front of the bathrooms. The location manager and the franchise owners are fighting about who should pay for janitorial service, and we, the employees, would rather not show up in the morning to turds on the floor and toilet paper sticking to the ceiling.

This morning I’m opening with Clayton, my manager. Though he showed up first, he waited outside for me — the girl — to wrestle up the gift shop’s metal grate.

“What’s coming down the pipe today, Nicky?” Clayton asks, as I pry at the stuck lock. He adjusts his snapback and checks the cuffs of his pristine blue button-down in the reflection on the glass behind the bars.

“Let’s see.” I grab the bottom of the grate and shove up. With a squeaking, shuddering groan, it rolls into the ceiling. Dust showers me, clinging to the back of my neck — already sticky from the September humidity. Clayton steps back, brushing imaginary particles off his shirtsleeves. “Today I predict I’m going to have to do all the work, as usual.”

“Smartass.” Clayton shoves my shoulder and heads for the cash register. The skunk-spray scent of pot hangs around him.

The shop where Clayton and I work is called a gift shop by the franchise owners, but mostly we sell maps. You’d think in the days of GPS and phone apps no one would buy paper maps anymore, but, the cell coverage in the area being what it is, we sell a few. More often, though, people buy a fridge magnet or key-chain dongle shaped like New York State. Aside from sodas and snacks, those are our most popular items.

At first, I figured only out-of-staters bought them. But after ringing up a hundred or so, I came upon another explanation. See, out here on the highway, where there’s nothing but cliffs and woods and a river or two, people get lost. Even without ever taking a wrong turn, inside their head, they lose sense of where they are. They need a map to reassure them that they’re still somewhere real. Humans shy away from the between-spaces. 

Me? I grew up in the between-spaces…

 Read the rest of this story in Pulp Literature Issue 51, Summer 2026!

Cara Masten DiGirolamo is very tired, actually, and longs for the wilds of upstate New York. But these days British Columbia will have to do. There, they instruct youths in the lost art of rigorous reason, and, when the youths are otherwise occupied, write. Their fantastic fiction can be further investigated at caradigirolamo.com.