My Cardboard Balcony

Towers by Belinda Roddie When you ask thirteen second graders to build a skyscraper in fifteen minutes out of paper cups, popsicle sticks, markers and paper bags, all while not saying a word to each other in their teams, maybe it's too much to ask for some sort of result. But when these young ladies present you with a real beauty, the height of a first prize trophy cup - it may not be a Needle or an Empire or a green-crowned dame with a frozen flame leading to the end of the cool Atlantic, but out here on the Pacific side with different festivities, credit is given where it is certainly due.

Seemingly small affairs had been written down in greater deal than needed in this small red spiral notebook. I flipped more pages and felt the dryness of the sheets scratching against my cuticles. I knew that once she had taken me home, she was probably someone with experience. But this seemed excessive. There was one man in the notebook who didn't have a last name. Either she didn't remember it or he was one of those porn stars or strippers with one name. Probably with a "The" attached to it in a professional environment.