My Cardboard Balcony

Ballet Blues by Belinda Roddie He drank a bottle of clogged whiskey before watching The Nutcracker , belching when the Russians leapt from eggs and sobbing when the Mouse King died. After the ushers dragged his limp ass out, he shook his fist at the San Francisco skyline and said, "Fuckers who fixed this town sure didn't think about fixing me."

The colonel had returned to the outpost by the time the sun went down, her hat tucked under her arm as she patrolled, her rifle slung in a sloppy slant across her back. I was sitting on a loose plank beside the abandoned barracks, drinking greedily from a bottle and wiping my mouth with the back of my sleeve, when she approached me, red coat billowing in the wind. "Use a napkin, for Christ's sake," she scowled. "Oh. Sorry."