My Cardboard Balcony

What Gives A Hand Claws by Belinda Roddie The plentiful reduction of affection from each cuticle brings forth a sharpened attitude that stings with each caress and stroke of once exotic fingers coated with molasses, sweet and sticky. Marks you leave behind have venom, and the antidote is rare, and you can wrap a tourniquet, but many kisses won't cure sadness. Claws leave marks that glow with venom, sting with venom, cling with venom, leave your mouth dry, leave your skin taut, leave your love life drowned and violent.

"Whose wheelchair is this?" my director demanded as he pushed his way into the backstage area. "Er...it's for the next scene," the stage manager mumbled. "We need it by the entryway." "Well, it's in my way, damn it! So move it!" "God, what an asshole," my castmate growled. "You're telling me?" I laughed. "I have to live with him."