My Cardboard Balcony

by Arden Roddie & Belinda Roddie "Who the hell is Sheryl Bradley?" "What's that, Branson?" "Who. The hell. Is Sheryl Bradley?" "Oh, goodness me! Whatever made you think of that name?" "I was searching through your albums, bitch. 'Cause it's boring as shit staying here." "Oh, come now, dearie - did you see her picture?" "Uh...yeah? Sheryl Bradley is some bimbo with brown hair." " Was some bimbo with brown hair, Branson. You'd do well to remember that." "What?" "Let me see this album, please. Go fetch it from my room?" "Ugh. Fine." "...Ooh. Ooh, my. My, my, my." "What?" "Oh, Branson...the memories are flooding back." "What do you mean?" "Scary Sherry, dear! Now, those were the good days. I do miss her terribly." "...Yeah, uh, question still stands." "What quest

By the time the sun had finally set, I walked over to the nearest gas station for a six pack and a king-sized candy bar. Andre, the typical cashier, wasn't on shift - instead, a beautiful young woman with pulled back brown hair was overseeing the till. When she saw me enter, she smiled in that usual "I'm stuck in a service retail job, please shoot me" way as I navigated the tiny aisles.