My Cardboard Balcony

Design-A-Lover by Belinda Roddie They told me I could pick out everything, from the hair to the lips to the eyes as bright as sequins, from the hips to the tips of their toes. I could mold, brush, curve, bend, whittle, and sculpt the perfect model of a man or woman to suit my aesthetic tastes, but the personality was entirely up to them. He emerged like Adonis from the trees, curls bouncing on his bright head, but he wore a business suit and smelled a bit too much like champagne. She burst into view wearing heels as sharp as her brow and as red as her mouth, but the words that tumbled past her teeth meant little to nothing to me. They were both like drinking honey and eating sweets, giving me energy, but offering only meager sustenance. I told them, No, Thank you, Perhaps next time I would be in a better mood. I walked out of the store empty-handed. I went to the café across the street, where they had wi-fi and affordable macchiatos. I sat down, ex

I found the barber shop with the typical striped pole which name I couldn't remember, and I found Mister Shambly sitting in the same corner, snipping the edges off of an old man's receding hairline. His stylist partner, a young woman with a cattledog puppy named Rascal, was sweeping off the long, red locks of the hippie-ish man who had just sauntered out the door. "Usual?" asked Mister Shambly as I reached for a magazine.