My Cardboard Balcony

Hot Cider and Croissants by Belinda Roddie Hot cider and croissants are all I have on the table, but it's a good enough meal between the two of us. Cinnamon on our tongues. Crispy, buttery pastries flaking against our teeth as we munch on the café delicacies. Feeling warm and tingly all over, I want a kiss from you. I want a crispy, buttery pastry kiss from you. I wish for a kiss- shaped croissant, the swirling mosaic of a display counter in a coffee shop that we could open with sappy motifs. Hot cider and croissants are what we'd serve to young lovers whose dreams will soon converge.

Crime was on the rise in Off Key Village. Nothing was on pitch. Everything was out of tune. The Oboe Scoundrel had trilled off with another bag of reeds. Now none of the Clarinet Gang could play. And to top it all off, some trumpeter was tooting his horn about how the mayor was sleeping with the virtuoso violinist.