My Cardboard Balcony

We Started A Band by Belinda Roddie We started a band where I played mandolin and you tickled the piano, drinking gin from a mason jar. As you slurped up your sin, we came up with tunes only half-written.

"How long have they been deliberating?" Costas sighed. He ran his fingers through his greasy, spiked hair, the sweat shining prominently from his pointed chin. "Two hours. Maybe longer. We knew this would be a tough case." I thought of my brother still sitting in that court room, not wanting to move, not wanting to say anything. His fate was in the hands of twelve people - a jury, allegedly, of his peers, but none of us had any confidence that they would reach an appropriate verdict.