My Cardboard Balcony

Beauty and the Butch by Belinda Roddie I'll be the knight in shining leather, riding a motorcycle through valleys turned to gold by Midas's touch. The drought may have burned the brooks away, but we still have time to ride to where there's rain and boats circling a castle where the freeway is submerged. First, though, it's a stop at the dyke bar on Fifth and Elm. Drink your mead, my lady. It's served to you by a commoner with big boobs and curly hair. She flirts, but your eyes are on me. She dances, but your mind is on me. The dragons swarm, and that is when I grab your hand. We'll escape under the pretense of sharing a smoke outside, where I'll kiss the ash out of your hair, you'll straighten your bandana tiara, and we'll chase crescent moons to Camelot where the treasure troves are bottles of beer and thick bison burgers and cold, cold water in a jar.

Bartholomew was relieved when Madison stepped out of the room. It was almost as if the air felt lighter all around him - though that may have also been because his colleague had taken his smoking pipe out of the space with him, so the billows of gray ash had finally dissipated. As Bartholomew sat down in his chair and reached for his half-empty glass of scotch, he thought he heard Sharon snort in the corner. "Good, Barty," she teased. "You did us all a solid talking to him like that."