My Cardboard Balcony

Stew by Belinda Roddie Little bit of unnecessary drama on rice, needles in spice, oh so nice to be a stew, boiling and brewing, sitting and spewing, growing cold in a dead man's maw.

She cut her hand open and it kept bleeding oil. It bled and bled until a fountain was bursting. A tycoon rolled back in a stained Rolls Royce and said, "Hey, that's a mighty fine oil well right there. Human, too. Glorious stuff. To keep that going, how much can I pay to own you and get billions?" With the unctuous stuff still leaking, she flipped him off.