My Cardboard Balcony

Charles Zenkin by Belinda Roddie She poured the noir whiplash across a chipped chalice, and she let it settle into froth before serving it to the master of the house - Charles Zenkin, third heir of the insignificant fortune of his intoxicated forefathers, though he liked to brag that his alcoholic pleasures were much more "refined." "Charlotte," he murmured with wet lips, and her name was, indeed, Charlotte, as it sounded so charming with his own title - he wouldn't have married a Maureen. "You seem so small, in the corner of this green room." And so she was. The minuscule grass blade reminder of juvenile flings, ice cream parlor prayers over half-melted malts as Charles became twelve-year-old, buck-toothed Chuck. Lopsided crescent moon below his brow, pot belly strained beneath his stained school uniform, and the girl with brown curls stood tiptoe to kiss him on his sour cheek, long before the fumes of faux wealth and happin

"I'm telling you, hilarity will ensue. I mean, think about it. We get the paint. We get the confetti. Then one big, fat roll of duct tape, and then..." "Hold it, hold it, hold it." I held up both hands before Haley could go on. "Let me digest this. Hilarity will ensue for us, or for everyone involved?" Haley raised an eyebrow. "Since when were we caring about the prank victims?" "Since I had a soul. I dunno. C'mon."