My Cardboard Balcony

Limited Resources by Belinda Roddie They've stored the last of grace in bottles, for richer men to drink. I've lost a friend or two to indulgence, but I'll take a tray to them regardless. Vial after vial of prayers from pews, swirling in glass and sour in taste. I'll pour them new doses if the words don't feel honest enough, to give souls a boost  when salvation is scarce.

It was hot, it was humid, and it was hostile. No one wanted to leave their respective corners. They drank their beers ice cold to keep their inner temperatures chilled. They wore caps soaked with faucet water to keep their foreheads damp and sweat-free. Outside, the breeze was weak, and the sun overbearing. We had brought this on ourselves. Now we simply sat through the consequences, consuming whatever crumbs were left over.