My Cardboard Balcony

At The Auction by Belinda Roddie You and me, we're a real live, raw, walking dichotomy - we shouldn't be together. No, we should be outside promoting autonomy. Yet here we are, at the local crazy's art gallery, sipping bad wine out of flutes while observing crude, oily renditions of female anatomy. At the auction, we don't need some stiff and formal introduction. The fluctuations in our voices are enough to start the wonky amateur stage production. Your friend Valerie's getting wary of how close I am to you, like we're gonna marry in the morning like Romeo and Juliet under a canopy, their romance on 'roids and way too much ecstasy. People say opposites attract, and they're so fucking spot on. We're bubbling in a passion cauldron, because somebody left the pot on.

I wanted to be graceful. I wanted to be sleek. I wanted to powder my nose and rouge up both my cheeks. I wanted to be slender. I wanted to be chic. I wanted to bring smiles to those who thought the world was weak. I wanted to make ladies blush and men's knees to grow weak. I wanted to be graceful, but I had reached my peak.