What do you get when you splash a little SF-ish nanotech into a slice-of-life vignette with no beginning, no ending, and a protagonist that only seems to know how to dance a jig while pondering the philosophical meanings of the universe and his failed marriage as the world comes to an end? You get “Pockmarked Cement” by Kaolin Fire. The prose is well-written, and there is a comparison to the outside turmoil with the main character’s inner turmoil which I felt was a nice touch. But there’s no plot, no dialogue, and that whole present-tense thing just didn’t seem to work for this one. I’m sure others will enjoy the story. But this reader's sentiment is “Next, please.”

[...] Kaolin Fire's "The Last To Have Sex" being the farthest outside the bounds of taste in his weak storyline that serves no purpose other than an excuse to create gratuitous porn.