Haircut by Belinda Roddie Got dressed up in my best suit and drank champagne for New Year's. Wifey gave me a haircut, too, about two days earlier. Not that I was going anywhere, given this goddamn plague. But hey, I could still be dapper, and I could pretend that I was at a Gatsby gala. Just, y'know, minus the Prohibition era. And the jazz. And the people. 

Itchy by Belinda Roddie Rodrigo was itchy from all the mosquito bites, and Lord, did he want to scratch! He wanted to pull his own skin apart, he was so itchy. But Dolores reminded him that it would only make him feel worse, so he soaked in warm water and lotion and pretended that he was submerged in quicksand, and all the mosquitos were drowning in that quicksand. Little bastards could choke on mud, for all he was concerned. What was the point of them, anyway?

Televised by Belinda Roddie I televised the revolution. I manipulated the airwaves so y'all could see it. I made sure the colors were bright and all the noise was in stereo. I forced you to hear the screams of dissent. I pushed you out of your comfort zone with all the grace and sincerity of a punching fist. I made you see the reality of our late stage capitalist society. Bring in that fucking ozone, Cheryl. It smells of tear gas and blood and fury.

Wool by Belinda Roddie Mama wore a homemade wool sweater on Christmas Eve, but it was too big for her, and she almost appeared to be a shriveled child draped in her father's clothes. The snow outside was heavy enough to turn even the panes of the windows white, and Papa stoked the fire over and over again, keeping the coals hot and orange as we hovered around the tree. We drank tea and brandy and cocoa, and soon enough, my brother began to sing, his voice higher and sweeter than mine would ever be.