My Cardboard Balcony

Barney's Dead the petroleum smell so familiar in Old Barney's Coffee Shop by the Chevron station Barney pours my coffee then goes into the kitchen and promptly has a stroke while baking muffins no one notices, of course until a regular (fifty-eight years old and bustier than a cheerleader) wonders why Cristóbal is getting her tea instead of the big white guy

Anywhere is a word that tends to bother certain people because saying you could go anywhere you wanted isn't exactly accurate, being that we are stuck on this tiny pearl of a planet and do not fly out to Mars for fear of our heads bursting like candy-filled balloons, spraying confetti all across the solar system - or travel back in time, for that matter, to Victorian England, where you'd be more likely to get the black lung than have a lovely dance with the aristocracy, but at least your lungs wouldn't compress into ribbons upon your intrepid voyage to Jupiter...without a helmet.