My Cardboard Balcony

Predictive Text by Belinda Roddie Tonight is going to be in midsummer, the better for you and your writer, who is running late to the game, from you and I. I think I'm justified in the morning. We have been on your phone in the middle of the night. Night and the thoughtful conversation are missing the point of my life. That's fine. Maybe we should do it again for the fun of the day. Right now, I'm sorry for everything. Okay to tell her? A Greek tragedy of the year progresses to be a rough time. Would you want it framed in my room? Or just need anything else from my room? Predictable to be able to make sure you're happy.

We didn't know from just a glance that Ahmed was a refugee. He said his father worked as a software engineer in San Francisco, but we never asked for how long. As we sat watching the news in his two story home, listening to the senate candidates scream about bigotry and Islamophobia, I heard Ahmed sip his soda and grunt, "Yep. We got in, anyway, and I think everyone's just fine with us here."