My Cardboard Balcony

Has Been by Belinda Roddie Has been drinking again, even though I told him not to, even when his blue eyes became flecked with dark, dark, dark gold. Has been firing lousy shots at a microwave because it won't heat his casserole properly. Has been cussing. Has been shouting. Has been crying. Hasn't seen daylight since his wife keeled over in the kitchen all wide-eyed with fried fish in her hair.

The food was bland, and the show Herman was watching on the telly was even blander. I left the flat and took the lift down to the bottom floor, where I saw a girl carrying the laundry in. Her clothes were bland, too. All whites and pastel pinks. I went out for a smoke near the Thames and let the smells knock me backward.