My Cardboard Balcony

They Turned Off The Water by Belinda Roddie They turned off the water, so we drank more beer and cider than we thought we would. We took out the board games, shuffled cards, and bored ourselves to tears with tired old Parcheesi. Soon, headaches came on, and we ran to buy packs of water, dousing our throats and brows with the lukewarm liquid, our tongues still dry as we debated whats and whys and hows of the broken heater. By the night's end, we knew we were bitching about first world problems, and from this slight rut, we would mend. We went back to drinking, chatting 'bout girls, and playing games. The water would return later, and then a shower would be earned.

I unpacked the groceries only to find a silver pocket watch lodged between the loaf of bread and the jar of marinara sauce. I looked at it curiously. How in the world had it ended up in the paper bag? Had someone accidentally dropped it while passing my cart? No - it had to have been purposeful. A gentleman had jostled me slightly on my way out of the store. Whatever his intention was of leaving me this watch - if it had been him, of course - was beyond me.