My Cardboard Balcony

It's been one Hell of a week. I started my second summer class, fretted over my shortened hours, scowled at my very small paycheck, and overall was just generally anxious. This is sort of my life at this point. It's an endless roller coaster of happy times versus the heavy realization that my situation, at this point, is not ideal. Yes, obviously I am happy with my family, fiancée, and group of friends. That hasn't changed. But the other words beginning with f - my financial situation, my frenzied perspective on the world and its problems, my frequent bouts of anxiety - those are prevalent. And they especially flared up this week. I actually cried in my fiancée's arms when a class was dropped from my fall teaching credential schedule and I had to scramble to get another class so my grants would go through and I could, I don't know, actually afford going to school. The ups and downs do affect my writing in a lot of ways. I have noticed that when I am not feeling ...

The Percussionist by Belinda Roddie The place was full of rhythm. The hum of the heaters, the drip of the coffee filter and beer on tap, the clattering of knives and cups against plate and table in a rising crescendo, the occasional whistling along to a smooth jazz tune playing in the background. A young man sitting at the bar watched the repeated movements of the diners as they raised their forks to their mouths in between lines of dialogue. The tinned laughter to the same joke and the sound of spoons in coffee filled the space and the man listened from his stool, head cocked slightly to one side and holding a cigarette. There were no poets tonight, no musicians, and no children in excess. Just the dim, tarnished chatter of the customers and their rhythm permeating the space like the smell of Budweiser and seasoned meat. Salient. The bartender was big, bearded, and dark-skinned, and he did his job with a sense of grandeur. He was busy cleaning the same part of the counter for...

The baron wore a long, quilted blue coat, so padded that he looked three times bigger from a distance. And, given his height, that meant instead of appearing to be a beanpole, he looked more like block of marble or brick, square and massive, the truth hidden beneath his heavy, bulky clothing. The only thing that stood out more was his nose, which length seemed to compensate for something lower.