Borrowing Time by Brian Robinson In the beginning, I borrowed from the take a penny leave a penny dish. An empty store and velvet windows behind racks of yesterdayâ€™s Daily. My wallet is empty; I spent it all on dollars. â€œPump 14,â€ I say, â€“itâ€™s probably no. 3, that seems saferâ€“ â€œNo, thatâ€™s pump 00.â€ Floodlit cases, Feathers dot the ceiling in elliptical shadows thrust by headlights in the velvet. They run blue ink on the tile through handicap signs. In the meadow of green wrapper, blue foil, Iâ€™m lost among the decks of pungent white sticks filled with the same stuff those trucks pipe under the pavement. â€œHave you heard?â€ says Zeus. â€œDennis is off to work,â€ I reply. Wings in the glass, coffee warming twilight, Slushed, electric beverage has feet. Iâ€™ll just have one. Iâ€™m still a penny short.