My Cardboard Balcony

Shiny Eyes by Belinda Roddie Sounds like the name of a jazz standard - the kind you listen to in a smoky bar, an out-of-tune piano rocking back and forth on shaky legs, the strings of the bass grimy but still humming like a happy old man. Is perhaps one of the lyrics, "I look at you, and they're just like fireflies?" Or maybe, "'I feel a connection, as I see my reflection. There's no haze in your gaze, no lies..." There's a taste to the music, too; like whiskey left out in the sun, it's cloudy but still leaves smog on your tongue. The smell leaves your nose dry - resin and cigar ash on a high table, where you sit and sip your formula, waiting for a lullaby, when all you've gotten is a cheesy tune about falling for a guy with shiny eyes.

The plane's departure from the Lyrette Airport seemed like any normal departure from any normal airport. It lifted into the air as gracefully as any large metal hunk could, though not necessarily akin to a soaring bird. Within minutes, it was thousands of miles above the cityscape, the pilot focused on her trajectory. That was when all the lights below turned off.