My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "You know life’s unfair when you ask for cheesecake and get piss." "...The fuck kinds of restaurants do you frequent?" I painted our exchange on a thick sheet of cardboard and presented it to her as a gift when we were seventeen. When I finally had money for actual canvasses and actually became a professional artist, she still expected free art from me, based on her "golden" nuggets of wisdom. And I was tired of it, so I would purposely add spelling errors and mechanical errors as I worked. That drove her up the wall, and she left me alone. "You know life's unfair when you ask for cheesecake and get piss." Guess I was asking for cheesecake, and she urinated on my art. How about that. This week's prompt was provided by Arden Roddie. Pay artists, people.

The hotel says, "No Vacancy," but I know that's a lie. I know they keep six rooms empty at all times. Precisely six. And do you know why? The owner's paranoid. Delusional. That's why. He thinks keeping six rooms empty will keep the Devil at bay. He thinks Satan needs six rooms for his demon crew, and if he lets them sleep for free, they won't come and harm his family anymore. He's crazy, I tell you. That guy is crazy.