My Cardboard Balcony

Musk by Belinda Roddie   Musk and pipe tobacco strung his whiskers amd played him like a marionette, twisting the tassels of his fancy mustache on his fancy upper lip. He poured himself a Cognac and watched as it turned silver in the light as the chandelier dropped like a pretty stone in the ballroom downstairs and killed three dancers.

The orchestra played Gustav Mahler's Symphony No. 1 with grace and gusto, and the minor intonations of a horrifying "Frere Jacques" crept into my ears to sleep. That night, I drank beer on the apartment balcony, with my brother curled up in a ball beside me. He was five years old and too tall for his age. He had cried during the third movement. I didn't blame him.