My Cardboard Balcony

Skye Had Two Faces by Belinda Roddie Skye had two faces - one she would reveal to the general world, and one she'd hide behind a veil, for were it not concealed, it'd give people a fright. One small girl cried upon seeing Skye's second face. It could not be defined by any poet's plume without the fingers growing stiff like wood against the pen, unable to resume description. It was difficult to dwell among the living with the dark cloth draped over a face that just wanted to swell with twisted happiness, one smile misshaped against the other. Skye would try to thrive, but she knew only one face would survive.

I drank a Manhattan in Manhattan, the cocktail swirling endlessly around in my clogged esophagus. The acid reflux kicked in eventually, and it all just started burning. It burned so bad that I couldn't sleep during the night, which got me up and coughing against the New York streets. I stopped at a doughnut joint and asked for cold water. The dreary-eyed baker handed me an empty styrofoam cup. When I drank the water, it was sweet.