My Cardboard Balcony

Sisyphus by Arden Roddie there are days          when it can be     d       i         f           f              i                c                   u                      l                        t to get the ball  r    o      l        l          i            n              g because the hill is s    t      e         e            p and you are      t        i           r              e                 d of pushing it

Willa left her father's fleece jacket in the dryer overnight, but when she pulled it out the following morning, the fabric was still warm. She held it gently, fingers caressing the flannel pattern, before inhaling and smelling all the familiar smells. The sticky odors of tobacco and cheap whiskey. The aroma of bacon and chive scones that he always got at the café in the morning. Her mother's perfume. Amazing how much it all lingered.