My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie The sun illuminated her head like a halo as she stood outside the waffle house, her hands folded across her lap as she seemed to blissfully ignore the cooling cup of coffee in front of her. To her left was an absolute clusterfuck of motorcycles, the occasional car driver cursing from his open window as he tried and fail to find a way to park among the tiny vehicles. To her right, two teenage girls held hands and chewed gum and they checked their phones and blew each other's kisses when they thought no one was looking. She was looking, though. She was impressed by their audacity to show off their affection in this dirty asshole of a Texas town. When the waiter went to pick up her check, she grabbed his hand and held him there. As he began to sweat, she leaned toward his ear and whispered two words. No sooner had her lips stopped fluttering did a truck swerve into the mess of motorbikes, burst into flame, and seem to glow brighter than the giant orb of energy a

There was a deafening crack, and when my ears stopped ringing, I then heard a scream. The composer lay on the floor, clutching at his chest, his hair somewhat singed. At first, I thought he had been struck by lightning. However, something told me otherwise. "Did you just try to stick something metal into the light socket?" demanded the trombone player, putting her hands on her hips. The composer gurgled in response.