My Cardboard Balcony

Scribe by Belinda Roddie Scrolls rolled up in stacks, like firewood, only not made to burn, but to last forever. The quills collected, waiting to dip sharp noses into sour ink. She will write many words tonight. Idioms. Symbols. Decrees. The message of kings presented to the fools of chaos. And she will read them. But she'll never truly understand them.

The sly look on Regina's face was equivalent to a scruffy fox squinting too hard in the sunlight. When she showed me to the corner table of her restaurant, I couldn't help but notice how well-lit the ceiling was, yet how dark the space seemed to be. I could barely even see the autographed portraits of random celebrities strewn across the walls. "First things first," Regina told me after she briskly ordered the house Merlot. "We talk about your script. Then we eat."