My Cardboard Balcony

Snout by Belinda Roddie He struck the dog something awful, and when I saw the blood coagulating across the poor mutt's muzzle, I suddenly drew the courage to grab my nearly empty beer bottle and smash it over the abuser's head. The name on her tag was Stacey, and I kept it that way. When times got hard, and all I could afford was broth for myself so Stacey could stay fed, the thing that would comfort me at night was when my dear pooch nestled her newly mended snout against my side as I succumbed to sleep on an air mattress closest to the open window.

"You look deranged in this photograph." "That's because I was," replied Ana, with a small, pained laugh. "Clear out of my fucking mind. The doctors didn't know what was wrong. They stuck me with every needle they got their hands on and pumped me so full of drugs that my blood was only ten percent actual blood." "And then..." "And then..." She shrugged. "It was over. Just like that. And I went back to work."