My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "Screw you, Granny! I'm gonna join a biker gang!" "Pardon, dearie?" "A biker gang! Gawd! I'm gonna join a biker gang and rip shit up, dude. So screw you." "Oh! Well, good for you, dear! I remember my days in a biker gang." "Er...what?" "Yes, indeed! Back in 1955, up to 1976. We ripped up the east coast like nobody's business. It was an all-woman's biker gang, too. We were called the Clits. Certainly difficult for the men to find us." "Um..." "Course, I suppose that's why Denise chose the name. I remember Denise. Tall and supple. Had the biggest, most beautiful breasts. Why, you could practically climb them like mountains. You might have even needed a sherpa. Not like Ella's ta-tas. Those were more molehills than Mount Everest. Shame, really - she did have quite a lovely face." "Uh, Granny?" "Boy, those were the days! Course, you co...

Even hours after the concert was over, my ears were ringing from standing so close to the PA speakers. I tried to sleep, but all I heard were bells. High-pitched bells whistling and clanging into the darkness. Clamorous and cacophonous bells accompanying my heartbeat. Screeching bells reminding me of school days when someone would pull the fire alarm, and we would be let out into the coldness of the soccer field, standing ankle-deep in the dew.