My Cardboard Balcony

What the Everloving by Belinda Roddie "what the everloving Hell is wrong with a society who lets three men drink whiskey on a dry parliament floor?" asked Francis, smoking a black cigarette and reading a red paper with the text typed out in compact black and blue along a cold interface.

With a flip of the switch and a little hand trick, Arthur let the lights flood the big stage. In the great amphitheater, people drank bulbous liter upon liter of spiced, liquid rage. When the actors all strode on the upstage road toward their destiny marked on a page, audience was in tears - no bad words or bad jeers - for the oddest little show of the age.