My Cardboard Balcony

Before You Go To Rehearsal by Belinda Roddie We kiss as you microwave your pasta dinner, the aroma of feta and spinach filling our modest apartment, every corner of the room sprinkled with the night's cosmic confetti.

"Are you my client?" I stared at the woman who was supposed to be my lawyer. She didn't look any older than twenty, but something about the way she held herself and the way her eyebrows knit together in that professionally curious frown told me she had a lot more years on her than I thought. Without saying anything else, she led me into her tiny yet air conditioned office and offered me a piece of gum. "It's cinnamon," she admitted when I declined. "I know most people don't like cinnamon, but I like a good kick in my teeth once in a while."