My Cardboard Balcony

Felt Lining by Belinda Roddie a tailor sewed a fine felt lining into a poor man's slacks. the poor man wore them to the festival that was held each year downtown. he danced and the lining was a remarkable silver.

They thought I was below them. Inferior. Crazed. Diseased. They sat three tables away from me on purpose as I ate my danish and drank my coffee. They visibly wrinkled their noses as we held hands and kissed. They were all dressed the same, in gray suits and ties, no silver. And when they walked, they left dirt behind from their heels, to remind me I was below the mud itself as well.