My Cardboard Balcony

Northwestern Urban Life by Belinda Roddie To eat artisan doughnuts in Portland and wear jackets woven with steel! We talk about love while hipsters patrol the streets, and unshaven Nazis try to make themselves relevant again before predictably getting punched in their crooked, bigoted jaws. There'll be music at the bar next door, with cocktails twice as expensive as the ones I can prepare at home. Check out Malcolm's new tattoo: He got it after his boyfriend broke up with him, to flaunt his new independence like freshly sprouted eagle's wings. The nights are getting warmer these days; there's never enough rain. You and I will leave footprints on the rainbow crosswalk, and we'll dwell in our compact spaces without fear of judgment.

Do you know how to play the harmonica? Do you know how to pluck the banjo? Do you know how to massage the neck of a cello and make it purr like a feline damsel? Do you know how to make people stop in their tracks on their way to the general store, have them turn their heads just so their ears catch more of that sweet, swampy melody? Crack open a drink or two for the ambience, and then let the natural twang take over all.