My Cardboard Balcony

Bees? by Belinda Roddie Honey dredged from the bottom of a dead queen's hive is not easy to digest on angry summer nights.

The essay looked as if it had been hastily thrown together, and I could tell. From the random Wikipedia segments to the occasional blue links to barely readable "literature" sites, the paper was nothing short of a catastrophe. I was ready to draw a fat red D onto the sheet when Leslie walked into the room. "So," she said, short of breath, "I was thinking...bowling for my birthday?"