My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "Pickles." "...What?" " Pickles." "...Okay." "I want pickles, dude!" "So go get some." "We don't have any!" "Go to the store, then." "I can't drive!" "Try walking. It's good for you." "I can't walk straight right now!" "You can't even think straight." "C'moooooon." "John. I know you've had a few martinis. This James Bond marathon was a good idea." " Right?! But no shaken martinis. Only stirred." "Okay, and now you want pickles. So get up, leave the apartment, go down a block, and grab a jar at the grocery store. Simple." "Cardio sounds awful right nooooooow." "Well, I'm sure as Hell not driving you." " What?! Why not?!" "'Cause I've been drinking, too, dude! I like martinis just as much as you do!...

I met Chelsea at 11:20 AM in the middle of Central Square in Burgundy. She was beautiful, as always. She wore her red hair up in a crooked bun, and she squeezed her vape pen in her left hand like it was a magic wand, and she was a wizard attempting to make the world right again. We sat down on a bench together to talk. "You want ice cream?" was my first question, as I pointed to a confection van idling near the playground.