My Cardboard Balcony

Another Coffee by Belinda Roddie Another coffee for my weary friend here, please. She can't keep her eyes open long enough to look at me, or comprehend the words I'm speaking. Make it extra strong, pure black. Spoon it into her mouth if you have to. I worry for her. She spends all her time at work, or cleaning up after her lazy husband and two children. Call in for some energy shots if the joe doesn't work properly. How exhausted she is! How she can't just enjoy the day without yearning for sleep in a cold bed, or freedom. Maybe I'll send her to France to wake her and give her a second chance.

'Tis a pity, really, to bury the king. A king that was burly and bearded and strong. A king that could part the oceans with his naval fleets. A king who used his scepter to break open skulls. The skulls of his enemies. The skulls of his friends. The jawbones of women and children. Come to think of it, this king sounds like a right bastard. You know what...f*** him. Bury him. Bury him and make sure no one can dig him up in case he's possibly still alive.