My Cardboard Balcony

León by Belinda Roddie The fountain leaks when it's summer time, and it dries up even once the blizzards sleep within the folds of yesterday. I am not waiting for a miracle to happen, but I wish I could drink from the silver spigots again, become thirteen years younger, and meet you by the archway in the middle of the town square. You will be white-haired, but I will have golden curls. And we will marry under closed rosebuds in the spring.

You order a hamburger at the Eat 'n Flee Diner to the west of campus, and you sit down to find that it's bloody rare instead of medium well done. How much will it cost? Nothing, hopefully. You return the meal to the waitress, only to see her eyes spin to the back of her head. "I am the cow goddess," she moans. "I reject your rejected gift."