My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "Wow, that sounded like a really old and angry cat."   " It wasn't." She eyed me from her cup of tea. "Then what was it?" "You don't want to know." We had been trying to eat breakfast casually and quietly. The night before had been particularly rough on both of us, what with our long shifts and our eleven PM discussion of how we could put money together for a new car. Needless to say, we puttered out very quickly and were so tired that even molding a word in my mouth seemed like effort. And I know for her it felt the same way because of how she kept a little bit of Earl Gray swirling on her tongue every time I looked at her. However, the raspy but pained yowling from two stories down in our giant brick apartment complex was most likely going to be an actual conversation starter, surprisingly. Not like anything remotely more exciting was going on. So she wasn't going to let it slide. "Do you know wha...

All of the beautiful people, gathered in single file, waiting for a bowl of floating bread to soothe their grumbling bellies. A hint of salt in their mustaches, or a pepper storm in their curls, as they try to feast on meagerness and hold back their disgust. The flavorlessness of the situation is pretty hard to bear, especially when you wish you had the money to buy fresh meat. Or perhaps sweet fruits. Or luxury. Any luxury.