My Cardboard Balcony

Crystal Walls by Belinda Roddie Eventually, you'll drill a hole in your glass dome to let the light in a little more, and you'll slurp the fresh air through a straw and sigh, "Damn, that hits the spot."

He braided her hair, and he painted her nails. She taught him to throw a football and hit a home run. He gave her make-up tips in exchange for trips to the ballpark, where they'd watch the home team fail and fail again to achieve a win. She wanted to be feminine; he wanted to be masculine. They figured that they should help each other, even though it wasn't really beneficial to either of their real identities.