My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie She wiped her mouth and drunkenly slurred at the mailbox, "I'll fuckin' show you. I'll crush you with my bare hands and use you for scrap metal. I'll turn you into a fuckin' art piece. I'll put you in a local exhibit and call you 'Garbage.' 'Cause you're garbage. Garbage, I say! Garbage!" She continued to rant and rave, flailing her arms, as a handful of her neighbors filed out along the sidewalk to witness the display. Francine, the old lady who made brownies every week for the block, stood next to Graham, the retired police officer, and sighed. "Is this because Zoe didn't get her Super Box subscription on time again?" she asked. Graham nodded. "Though I think this is the first time she's smashed an empty whiskey bottle against her mailbox before." "I'll turn you into a storage box of shame, damn you!" Zoe snarled from across the street. Graham sighed and rubbed hi...

There was no parking by the grocery store, so Carly had to drive around to a sketchy residential area and settle for a cramped spot between a trash can and a beaten up black truck. As she stepped out of her van, she was suddenly aware of sharp, shallow breathing nearby. That turned out to be a random doing push-ups in his driveway across the street.