My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "Oh, man, this full-fat ice cream is legen dairy!" "..." "..." "...Okay. Two problems I have with that statement. First of all - " "The pun was awesome." "- the pun was awful." "Aarooooon!" "And second of all...'full-fat?'" "...Yeah. Full-fat ice cream." "...You mean regular ice cream." "..." "Just...regular, not at all altered, reduced anything ice cream." "...Dude. No. It's full-fat. Like, the opposite of low-fat." "You just call that regular ice cream, John." "No." "Regular ice cream is always full-fat, whatever that means." " No." "We don't call Vitamin D milk full-fat milk!" "Well, we don't call full-fat ice cream Vitamin D ice cream, now, do we? So I don't think we can treat milk and ice cream like they'

You could smell something burning from two miles away. A chemical smell, like someone disposing of something dangerous...or lethal. Still, when you returned home, the stinging in your nose and the ache in your lungs would subside. You could breathe again - no pain, no asthmatic symptoms. Perhaps it was a false alarm, after all. Or a psychosomatic reaction to some other stimulus. But then you went to bed. And that's when the dreams started.