My Cardboard Balcony

Spaghetti Night by Belinda Roddie Bring on the cheese, if you would, pretty please - my pasta is barren and dry. It needs deserts of white with the flavor just right, Parmesan dreams kissing the sky.

I could see the dysfunction of the city stemming from a lot of hate. Racial hate, cultural hate, even abhorrence of one another based on social status. Funny how it all came back down to money. I walked those streets time and time again, collecting pennies and dropping them into the hats of those too poor to sleep. They had to stay awake, in order to speak with enough people willing enough to give them pocket change worth a cheeseburger or a bowl of soup.