My Cardboard Balcony

Brass Brain He heated up the cerebral cacophony with a pair of tongs, a straight poker, and callused thumbs with the fingerprints burned right off. Each fold melted into permanence, each wizened crease forever imprinted. Its owner lay beneath his shoes, but this would do wonders at the exhibit. A brass-cast mind of a brilliant man. When he was finished, he went to the kitchen and brewed himself a cup of coffee - but when he brought the porcelain to his lips, the black stuff turned bronze when it stained his teeth with metallic shame. Under the counter, his leg shook from the taste. Elsewhere, a dead man laughed.

There were five different kinds of soups ladled out on the round, majestically carved table of mahogany. The first was a light broth, decorated with a rare noodle here and there. The next two were cream soups - potatoes floating like debris in one, mushrooms sleeping soundly in the other. The shrimp bisque looked fantastic and colorful, the butternut squash one bright. The last, however, looked the oddest - and was a dark blue.