My Cardboard Balcony

A Globule of Language Syrup by Belinda Roddie a penny pincher suffered from a toothache, so he pinched snuff and molasses to make high and sweet the same exact sensation, but since he was so damn thrifty, he felt molars rot out of his skull and he didn't quite like that, so he got spectacularly silver gauntlets latched to his gray gums. He thought it was the best idea ever, to be flashing metal with each grin as he kissed ladies, but they didn't like the taste and when he drank a glass of Pinot sorrow, he licked salt from his back teeth and sliced his tongue right open like a fork in a serpentine road that winded all the way down his raw, blood-soaked throat. Not stoked, he choked, clavicle broke from croaking out a panicked cymbal crash and with a hammer, he knocked out each fragment of stingy stubbornness, moody brooding cooling sinful shrapnel from his mouth and he stayed toothless until he turned ninety-dead.

"What are you doing?" "I'm developing a sonar system for my aquarium!" squeaked Bailey. Bailey's aquarium was his tiny fish tank in the corner of his bedroom, with two goldfish swimming about a plastic castle and ignoring the pellets waiting to be devoured. I watched him tinker with the random scraps of metal and shrapnel and tried asking another question. "How is this going to work?" "I'm going to detect sound," said Bailey. "Duh."