My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "Honey, that's not mistletoe..." "Don't call me honey." "That is not mistletoe." "What?" "Aaron. I swear to you. That is nooooot mistletoe." "It's not?" "No." "Then what the Hell is it?" "It's holly." "What?" "It's holly. Holly is not mistletoe. Holly is holly." "I got it from a bin that said 'mistletoe' on it! How is it not mistletoe?!" "Well, first of all, see the red berries? Mistletoe has white berries." "..." "Because it's holly." "Who puts holly in a mistletoe bin?!" "I don't know, but either way, we can't get people to kiss under this at the party." "Fuck, man! C'mon!" "Sorry, dude." "I'm not driving back out there. Have you seen the streets?" "Yep! Winter wonderland set ...

Bring me a compass, and I will take us north to where the air is still cold, and the aurora borealis flutters across the sky like a rainbow goddess's scarf. We'll crack open the bottle of whiskey we snuck on the little boat we sailed, and before our breath freezes up in our throats, we drink a toast to what was once permanent winter.