My Cardboard Balcony

I Can't Endure by Belinda Roddie I can't endure this chronic grief for long; the aches and sharp jolts of brief agony lasts long enough to keep me overcome with desperation for a mild reprieve. No blankets or cushions can stop the pain that zips like my body like a race car on a hot track, or like a bullet train careening off the rails. And so far, no tea, herbs, medicines, or "natural" remedies offer a break from this spell of torture both physical and mental - paralysis, depression, rage, and, well, my body torn and weary from the "slings and arrows of misfortune" - Shakespeare's stings.

"How much money do you think we need to save for the lease?" I inhaled sharply, trying to unclog the sudden congestion in my left nostril. "I don't know," I said. "One thousand dollars? Fifteen hundred?" Edgar nodded. We were standing by his desk, looking down at the mosaic of paperwork that we had yet to sign. The pottery shop was doing well sales-wise, but the payments for the space were just getting ridiculous.