My Cardboard Balcony

Tuesday Has Horns by Belinda Roddie Yesterday, I wore black over blue because underneath, I was bruised, and the spread of a hematoma on fabric was oddly cathartic for me. They told me that I've found the love of my life if I no longer worried about the end of the world, but instead of comfort, it made me concerned that if I was going down, I'd take her by the glass hand and pull her down with me. My demons wore top hats and tailcoats, drinking champagne on the window sill as I worked. They told me to stop crying because it was overwhelming for them - like being sated with a meal, yet the seconds and thirds keep coming, with extra salt.

"She's offering me fifteen dollars an hour for start, possibly seventeen later on." "That's ridiculous," scoffed Callie. "Her office is in the most expensive part of the city. That includes steep costs for parking. How the Hell does she expect you to pay rent and commute just on that much?" I shrugged. "I tried asking for twenty, and she sort of rolled her eyes at me." "Sort of?" "Okay, she did roll her eyes. You get it."