My Cardboard Balcony

Jason, I Think by Belinda Roddie Jason, I think we need to talk about your multitude of problems. Don't you see how much you're hurting yourself and your friends, how much you're hurting your poor family? The trouble is you drink too much, and then you get into fights - big ones - all the time with guys who are much stronger than you. When you're wasted, you then turn to drugs and crime; honey, you tried to rob a bank two days ago while you were high on some bath salts! When you were caught, you screamed, "I blame the gays!" before asking the male cop for a waltz. This is more than just a slippery slope. In fact, I'd say, Jason, there's no more hope.

"Missus Shiloh, you are a marvel. An absolute marvel." "Why, thank you, Miss Aberforth," crooned Marsha from her perch on Stephen's grand piano. Nearby, Douglas frowned over his flute of champagne, as Marsha patted down the folds of her billowing dress. "It's hard work to be a marvel like myself. Do you fancy a drink?"