My Cardboard Balcony

The Suite by Belinda Roddie when the conductor lowered bones from arching blades gears slowing to a cricket creak the denouement of hushed reeds and whistling wind from a horned lip was met with blessed silence and programmed anticipation.

As she plotted out the architecture in blue and white prints, Rosanna was beginning to feel the onset of preliminary exhaustion in her muscles. She leaned back from her desk, shoulder blades squealing in protest as they rubbed against the cushion of her swivel chair. The mayor wanted the plans for the new city hall by tomorrow. Rosanna was beginning to wonder if she could ever get it done.