My Cardboard Balcony

I Just Killed A Dude by Belinda Roddie "I just killed a dude," she said. "Stabbed him twice and then a third time just to watch him bleed. You see, he was the opposite of nice, and I followed my 'no jerks allowed' creed." The other people in the cell exchanged wary looks, and some shuffled toward the wall to get themselves within a safer range of the woman, heavy and six feet tall, her eyes blazing with an alarming zeal as she further described her murd'rous act. "He gurgled throughout the entire ordeal," she quipped, "so that's when I forgot all tact and brought out the buzz saw!" And then she laughed, which just made all the prisoners shrink back.

I lost my passport while in Vancouver, so I was stuck at my hotel, waiting to see if it would turn up at some point. All my plans, of course, had to change: I pulled more money from my bank account, called the appropriate embassies, and then contacted my exasperated mother to let her know that no, I would not be home in time for my brother's birthday, and yes, he could live without my presence there.