My Cardboard Balcony

Shut Me Up by Belinda Roddie Make sure I'm quiet when Dorothy's onstage, clicking her rubies three times so they sparkle a little extra before the dry ice sends her spiraling into a crazed, soggy fog. Toto, of course, won't stop yapping, and his tail already caught the wire of the scarecrow's microphone box, so as he was singing, a sore throated growl erupted on the word "brain." Brain, brain, go away. Come again at the end of this play.

I tried a cup of European chocolate yogurt while I was waiting for my bus, at the cost of three dollars and ninety-five cents from the small shop located just a few feet away from the transit center. The owner was very nice - and incredibly Greek - speaking in full, floral sentences as the sharp ends of his consonants were polished enough to slice the air cleanly, not hack it. And he was the one who suggested the yogurt.