My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie Bring me my carrot cake! That's right. Bring it to me. Bring it to me on the nicest plate you can find in your house. Make it porcelain. Make it fine china! And include the finest silver fork. Or stainless steel, if that's all you have. But that cake must be brought to me! It is a marvelous cake, that carrot cake. Fresh from the baker's box, cut from a batch of sweet wonders. Who would have thought that vegetables could help make such a sugary delicacy? It's not just for birthdays - it is for all occasions! Every day must be carrot cake day! ...What's the matter? You don't want to bring me carrot cake? You know, I knew someone else who used to bring me carrot cake. She used to bring it by the dozen to my house. She even brought milk to go with it. Sometimes coffee. Sometimes the finest tea. Then she got tired of it. Didn't want to cater to my humble desires any longer. Even when it wasn't much to ask. Where is she now, child? S

"Go to the cabinet." I did. I found two bottles of brandy, one jug of whiskey, and three tubs of what looked like dried up meds. I wasn't quite sure why they were in tubs. "Bring the blue pills over." I did. He pulled off the lid and pulled out four pills. He downed all of them without water. "Now," he said, "turn away."