My Cardboard Balcony

Night Terrors by Belinda Roddie you stitched a tiny scream into your pink pillow perfect for when the bad dreams take off their hats and let their hair fall forward in a tapestry of spider webs and ruptured capillaries you kiss the knife you keep beneath the sheets good night but it doesn't kiss you back it waits for the inevitable plunge into your husband's heart when you awake then everything will be red red red then everything will be red

When the man in the blue wide-brimmed hat is asked for directions to the train station, he doesn't hesitate. He points toward a small, squat yellow building and spits out of the corner of his mouth. The group of tourists lug their bags across street, their black boots blending in with the black asphalt, and appear to melt into the air once they get far away enough. They become shadows, while the man in the blue hat sticks another wedge of tobacco into his maw.