My Cardboard Balcony

The New Year Sleeps by Belinda Roddie The new year sleeps next to a bottle of frosty champagne, but heat resonates from its rosy cheeks, its dreams frothy and light like wisps of sunrise on simmering dawn. The new year's stomach gurgles, hungry for the smiles and laughs in a new calendar, etched with first dates, weddings, newborns, many kisses and hugs, success countering each failure, happiness battling each sad tear, gifts rivaling curses. A pitcher of cold beer. A baseball game where the rookie wins. A ballet. A concert. A fresh waltz. Hands held, wars won, lives saved, all loved ones near to celebrate the wakening new year.

"How many shows are you planning to see in Chicago?" "Um...I don't know, six? Seven?" "Damn, you're booked." "Hey, I love me some improv. What can I say?" Tim's gone to get another pitcher of beer. Toby, his brother, is at the counter ordering shots. I drum my fingers against the sticky wood of the round table, smirking at Mark.