My Cardboard Balcony

Yochanan's Gift by Belinda Roddie "God is gracious, God is kind. God will give you a pat on the back from time to time." Those were the words that Yochanan gave to me when I was half-drunk in the full strawberry moon - June fever ran rampant, lunacy lived up to. He gave a hand for me to grab and yanked me from the melted tar bubbling under my stolen leather shoes. Yochanan left prints on my hand that glowed gold when I tried to sleep, and never once did the hue fade until I snapped the neck off a bottle and drained its blood into the gutter. That damn little boy was given such a clumsy name, yet there was nothing but grace laced between his eyebrows, drizzling the smile he cast me when he saw me three months later, full harvest, bearing fruit, grinning with silver buttons I bought myself, gold patted on my back.

"Who was the planter?" "Um..." I blinked. "Planter?" "You know what I mean!" Martin roared. "The planter of evidence! Of incorrect evidence, might I add! Throwing off our scent!" "How in Hell would I know who the 'planter' was?" I demanded. "Are you implying something?" Martin's face went from red to magenta. He sputtered. He shook. He marched back to his desk, with the chief staring after him. "Don't worry," he murmured. "He blamed me this morning."