My Cardboard Balcony

A lot of stuff happened today. This morning, it was bad stuff. This afternoon, it was better stuff. This evening, it was great stuff. Lots of stuff. Stuffy stuff. ...Yeah, I'm going to bed. G'night, everyone!

Up in Flames by Belinda Roddie When the propane truck exploded, I heard the children scream.

There was Samson, scraggly hair and beard, dressed in his best black T-shirt and jeans, standing on the corner. He was passing out pink slips of fragile paper. Flyers for the small metal concert held in the back of the dive bar where he held a dead-end, minimum wage job, fobbing off recycled sheets of advertising to any helpless passerby still twiddling on their phones and borderline sucking their thumbs. His eyes were like black vacuums as he handed out the modern parchment, drawing in every night star like his skull was lifting up two tiny black holes.