Fiction. Short Stories. The characters that inhabit the twenty-two stories comprising (INTENTIONALLY BLANK) are missing something. In some cases, it's the punchline. In others, it's someone who cares. In every instance, it's the point. It's as if they all have phantom limbs, appendages that have gone missing or stolen, but haven't stopped tingling. Like an intelligent designer took safety scissors to the universe, left a bunch a holes. Like everything's intentionally blank.