My Cardboard Balcony

Somewhere To Run by Belinda Roddie Somewhere to run is all I need tonight, to hide from the shadows along my wall, the screaming as the darkness turns to light, as I curl into a terrified ball, trying to hold onto my lover's hand. Somewhere to run is all I need to find, a place closer to trains and hot dog stands, to people who won't stab me from behind when I ask them to accept me for who I am. That somewhere can be any place where I can drink a whiskey in a blue suit, where no one can recognize my face or hers. All we need is a house, a bed, to kiss each other and quietly wed.

The lounge singer was older, with hair as silver as chrome, but he had a damn good voice. He crooned to us for the entire time we were at dinner, the waitress smiling as she filled and refilled our wine glasses. When it got late and we were sated on champagne and chocolate cake, I found myself slumping and nuzzling my chin into the crook of my wife's arm, breathing in the detergent fumes of her recently washed jacket. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the singer smile.