My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "Pretty sure the guy who lives under the overpass is a wizard." "What? How can you be 'pretty' sure?" Mid-chew, Mel jerked a thumb where a spray of sparks could be seen hurtling from beside the overpass. I strained to look at the writhing ribbons of color and shook my head as my friend took another bite of her to-go calzone. "That could be anything," I remarked. "Could be cheap fireworks. Could be a flare." "Oh, really? Tell me, do most flares you see turn into fire dragons in the sky?" I gazed at Mel skeptically. "I didn't see that." "No, but I did," said Mel, her teeth stained with tomato sauce. "It was fucking epic. And definitely not something you can get from pyrotechnics." We neared the overpass with obvious caution, my fingers drumming against my thigh as I walked. Mel had always been somewhat of a fantasy junkie - reading books about elves, dres

"Just trust me," I told Martha. "I'm really flexible. The next two weeks are pretty much open, ever since the job didn't work out." Martha still seemed hesitant, cradling her sleeping baby in her arms. In the other room, her three-year-old daughter was watching Sesame Street, giggling every time Cookie Monster began to growl. "Seriously, hon," I insisted. "I can take care of them. Just give me a decent nightly pay, and a chance to eat from your cupboard, and I'll be good."