My Cardboard Balcony

Maybe It Is by Belinda Roddie anxiety attack over a typo analyzing the tone of an email until your eyes ache and your teeth lose an inch due to all the grinding you must be doing during the night a crying spell over a letter of resignation for a restaurant, not for your shtick, not for your routine, not for your vauldeville show with the piano noise and the curtains drawn around your thighs your placated audience subdued by wine and laughing through their nine to fives is something broken? is something broken? is something broken?

"No! Come back here! Thieves! Thieves!" The police were on the scene in only two minutes, as the little old lady who ran the tiny drugstore on the edge of Main told her side of the story. Apparently, in her words "three hooded hooligans" had run into her store and taken off with about five pounds of king-sized chocolate candy bars. "Am I hearing you correctly, ma'am?" asked a puzzled officer. "Five pounds?" "Yes!" exclaimed the little old lady.