My Cardboard Balcony

Whiskeys For Two by Belinda Roddie Whiskeys for two, please! Let the glasses spill because we're young and we are so in love. We'll drink two toasts to both calm and good will, until the music provokes us to move across the floor like gliding seraphim - holy, but flawed, our wings outstretched and bright in the small space. We'll feed on every whim like salty appetizers and a flight of brimming beers. This country is a mess, and our freedoms are waning, but for now, we still have a right to dance and caress each other on the lips and nose and brow without a right-wing maniac to break the permanent pact that we aim to make.

I met Tracey on her porch, fondly gazing at her as she walked out wearing quite the ensemble. I knew she could pull off red, but this was giving the Scarlet Pimpernel a run for his money - or moniker, for that matter. Her outfit was crimson embroidery and maroon ascot and burgundy boots, the only exception, color wise, being the brass buttons on her coat.