My Cardboard Balcony

Pick One by Belinda Roddie The dreams we have are shuffled like cards within a deck. We don't know if we'll reach them if God breathes down both our necks.

After falling from the second story of his house onto a trampoline and then next into a sloppily raked up pile of leaves, Chester was more than just disoriented. He suffered two fractures in his left leg, and now he had to lie on his back on a boring hospital bed in a boring hospital room, watching a boring TV show that didn't even have the volume on. "Just goes to show," the doctor had told him, "not to drink that much bourbon before agreeing to skydive."