My Cardboard Balcony

Long Day by Belinda Roddie Got a free hard cider waiting for me at the bar when I'm done with the shift. Sexy barkeep's strutting in flats with her purple hair up in fireworks, and she's hoping for an aftertaste once I'm done finishing my glass and cleaning my plate. My friends will smoke outside, but I'll stay in the miniature city of lights with the low ceiling - chandelier spots decorating my shoulders like newfound freckles, not bright enough to be stars, but warm enough to tattoo me. And I'll ask for another free cider, but the barkeep's not that generous. Not even for a kiss? Not even for the best kiss from Casanova.

"Where's your phone?" "Still charging." "Where's your wallet?" "In my left back pocket." "Where are your keys?" I dangled them in front of her face, and she pawed at them like a hyperactive kitty. That got a good laugh out of her. "So you're good without your phone for a couple of hours?" "Why not? I could handle not having one in my twenties." Ah, the eighties. So easy to be nostalgic for. Yet so much wrong about them.