My Cardboard Balcony

The Taste of Noir by Belinda Roddie Has anybody here sipped the red wine from the tree stump in the middle of no man's land? I hear it tastes sweet, like embalming oil, and makes you feel weak in your knees just before you fall asleep. One girl brought a skin back full of the stuff and watched seven men sink into disarray after the first few swallows. Then, she took all the money they had and rode their horses back to town, vines in her hair and a grape seed stuck in her teeth. If you bend down real slow and put your lips on the split wood, the wine rises up like lava. That little volcano will swell you up with all its earthly sacrifices, reminding you through the deluge that what laughs loses breath, what grows tall shrinks, and even the merriest of drinkers all turn to booze-speckled dust in the end.

My algebra class was just before my world history class, and I was getting antsy. Not just because algebra was a royal pain, and we were working on trigonometry and I never did well at trigonometry, which meant I was doomed when it came to pre-calc next year and I was heavily debating dropping math entirely after clawing through this class. No, it was also because next class, I would be sitting next to Gina Thomas again, and I would feel my heart attempt to escape the ivory cage of my chest for the entire fifty minute period.

My Francisco by Belinda Roddie In the city, you don't think twice about just how nice it is to eat fried rice with a view of a sixties-themed café, but may I just say, this is a splendid way to end the day with your toes halfway submerged in the bay.

“Honey?” “Yes, dear?” “Have you seen my eye drops?” “No, dear. I haven’t seen them at all today.” “I kind of need them.” “Eyes dry again?” “No, there’s a spider on my bed, and I’m going to see if I can use the drops to kill it in some way. Like, poison it or something.” “That sounds a bit strange, dear.” “You’re right, honey. Because I’m not using it for that. Yes, my eyes are dry. What gave it away?"

Prayers by Belinda Roddie Prayers to keep the demons out, prayers to let them in, serve them all a cup of tea and tell them not to sin. Good vibes from every coffee shop, lucky charms on every door. Exorcise the monsters in your head until you can't feel your face anymore While the madmen with their Bibles pound their heads against the wall, I'll find solace in my little prayers that hold me as I fall.

"This day was a drag," muttered the drag queen as she took a drag on her long cigarette. Nearby, I could hear the drag of a truck as it scraped its way down the road. We were seated outside the Dragon Hotel, where everything was dripping with overly "Oriental" decor. I didn't know how to handle, so instead, I dragged my seat closer to the wall and reached for my drink, which was now lukewarm instead of frosty.

One by one, the gang filed into the space, and one by one, they scanned the room. No one seemed to be openly carrying weapons, but that didn't mean they weren't simply concealed. The pool tables were all taken, as well as every stool at the bar. But that didn't matter to these gals. One of them brushed a curl aside before marching up the counter and shoving a scrawny white bastard out of the way.