My Cardboard Balcony

Green Dream Machine by Belinda Roddie Leprechaun was hitting on my friend all night, so I dunked his tiny head into a tankard of beer. He spluttered slurred, brogue expletives, but I didn't care. "Green dream machine,"as he called himself, could shove his pot of gold where the sun don't shine.

If anyone goofed, all of their hard work could come undone. That was why everyone was so tense. The ticking of the clock was the only sound in the room. Palms were moist and damp with cold sweat, breath bursting in short, small spurts from colleagues' mouths. Everyone watched as one person moved, fingers shaking, to add the next part of their project into action. Everyone watched as the ace of spades settled against the king of hearts. The card tower remained intact.