I’ve grown to trust the principle that the first pages of a short story are going to be indicative of the rest. In other words, if I don’t like the beginning of a story, I feel free to put it down and go on to the next. I almost did that to “The Fallen and the Muse of the Street“. Fallen angels cruising the seedier streets of New Orleans ain’t my bag. (It might be yours, though).
Since it’s by Tim Pratt, and I was listening to it on the Drabblecast, I hung in there long enough to find out why Saturday Night Live was only good for the first few years. That’s where I got hooked. I like that they turn out not to be as tough as they think, and maybe toughness isn’t where it’s at after all.