My Cardboard Balcony

21 Shots by Belinda Roddie First time drinking, and I'm already seeing stars. My buddies Bronco and Hyde are waiting for me in the trunk. Don't even bother to help me buckle my seatbelt. My fingers feel like fat hot dogs being grilled on the fourth of July. Bronco's sober, but she's driving too close to the right. Just like all the other cars, actually. I'm sweating like I'm in a tropics, but it's Hyde who smells like he's been baking in the sun like an overripe fruit, rotten down to its soggy pit. "If we drive fast enough, we'll be back at the hotel in no time," he grunts, as Bronco lets her black boot work the pedal like the lips of her last lover. "Hang in there, buddy, all right?" Hyde's worried I'm gonna roll over toward the window and stain the already spotted glass with my own vomit. But I don't feel sick. This road. I've been on it before. The asphalt splits in familiar cracks. For a

"So what's the currency of your imaginary country?" Arlo asked Rachel, as the two sat down to map out their roleplaying game. "Not sure yet," replied Rachel. "What do you think is a better fitting name: A denka for a dollar or a grappi for a dollar?" "Depends on the town itself. Denka sounds more desert-like. Grappi's like...I dunno, kind of Italian-ish?" The brother and sister enjoyed creating these worlds together, and today was no exception. Their fictional characters were off on an adventure, and they had to plot out the map and continents for them to explore.