My Cardboard Balcony

A Cup, A Cup For Me by Belinda Roddie Should you make your way to the headlands, you will find the reservoir of dreams. Drink from it, and save a sip for your wife. Share a kiss, and sleep with smiles. Try to find the good in everyone, and if you find none, direct them to the reservoir, for they will surely drown, or drink themselves sick. Dip both hands into the water; you will wash the past away. The present is in turmoil, and the future is always an uncertain guest. It may balk at your invitation, but do not worry that it won't come. Make your way into the headlands, and stay there until the next winter's rain.

She drew me to her, and she yanked the cliché out of my mind: The tired trope of the moth, fluttering aimlessly toward the perilous flickering flame. She was dressed in blue and had painted her nails green. Her hair was blonde. The only red was the glow exposed when she opened her mouth to speak. "I heard you're quite the fan of rum," she said to me, and before I could answer, a glass of the stuff was passed to me.