My Cardboard Balcony

Cheers, Officers by Belinda Roddie I made sure that my mugshot included me holding my very favorite mug, which Jared had made for me as a gift. He had let it carry out a temper tantrum in a local ceramics shop's kiln before intricately painting WORLD'S BEST DAD in sloppy green paint across its lumpy, voluptuous, beautiful body. I am not his dad. No fat shaming my drinking vessel of choice here, officers. And no, the paint is latex-based, not lead-based. Either way, I'm happy to poison myself by sipping from it too often, should you decide that my little stint at the bank deserves five years of bad food on uniform black trays and a room with no heating despite the frost on the bars. At least Jared will miss me, and he'll lovingly craft me a blue, lopsided bowl to go with my mug. Maybe I'll collect cigarettes in there - I don't smoke, but I sure as Hell want to keep up with the currency if I'm going to make it anywhere in this new ...

The way the stranger walked toward me was like something out a badly produced Western - back arched like an angry cat's, boots sliding in the dry dirt, the wind picking up around the wide brim of his hat. I was ready for a tumbleweed to come out of nowhere in this no man's land just to accentuate the awkward scene unfolding before me.