My Cardboard Balcony

A Midnight Hot Dog by Belinda Roddie A midnight hot dog was my favorite snack when summer nights were long, hot, and sticky, and I couldn't sleep. I'd open a pack of those delicious franks, and gleefully I'd heat a dog up and add sweet relish, ketchup, and mustard, all on a sweet bun. It was my favorite weird dream-causing dish, 'cause then I'd dream about cats, one by one, becoming ballerinas as a storm of hamburgers and sausages rained down upon the populace. And then a swarm of butterflies would descend on the crowd and gnaw at the fresh meat. Then I would wake up, suddenly craving a rib eye steak!

I went to the bank to drop off a check, but sure enough, it bounced. "I knew it," I growled, cursing under my breath. One teller seemed to pity me, and the other, stiff-lipped, eyed me suspiciously. Both knew me; they knew that normally, the checks I brought were good. But now that the store I worked at was being run by a guy a little lacking in the ethics department, it was time for me to take matters into my own hands. Literally. I pinned my manager to a wall, held a lead pipe against his throat, and demanded my pay.