My Cardboard Balcony

A Hospitable Man by Belinda Roddie At the clinic where I'd paid my dues in all civilized functions of society, from the tip book drawn out ribbons of inadequate emotional tenderness served on conveyor belts to the gray, cold, wide-eyed surveyors of all things hope, to the jar of cookies given to the wretched ladybug perched on the second floor window whispering little trances to the apartment complex next door - I found myself with relatively spare time to seek out a new friend located between Mrs. Hamilton's screaming fits and the tiny 108 room that never seemed to stay full. A man had been rolled in on his stomach after a nervous breakdown (though the term nervous breakdown is never ever used these days - it's just not that appropriate, you see) and he now resided in room 112 overlooking the Chinese restaurant leading into the wide-mouthed, red-lipped, white-tongued downtown orgasm that was the new city. When I came in w...

There was green cotton candy at the carnival, and giant pizza slices were being sold by the bridge. Harvey Talon got a squeaky hammer for a prize at one of the water gun games and drove his father nearly mad. Meanwhile, his little sister, Ginger, was on the ferris wheel with her new boyfriend, and they were making out to the sounds of the screams from the clickety-clackety haunted house ride down below.