My Cardboard Balcony

Episodic by Belinda Roddie episodic sub-psychotic half-neurotic superstition, television on a mission to subdue men with derision, heated rage, bottled, caged, locked up in a super age of mega-ultra-uber-special Martians walking on a threshold of endurance, no insurance, rest assured they've got their courage, when the end is still in sight, it comes down to fight or flight.

"They've got some really short fuses, don't they?" asked Kyla. She was referring to the temperamental twin boys sulking in the corner, both of their crowns curling in syrupy cowlicks above their pale faces. Almost as if they were trying to be soft-serve ice cream cones. I stifled a giggle at the mental picture. "Yeah," I replied once I had composed myself. "I'll figure something out with them. Promise."