After the floods I hang out with Joseph on the roof. Among the dehydrated soup and miracle whip in the emergency cabinet is a bag of pot. Since there’s nothing else to do we get high and watch the rescue helicopters panicking across the sky like angel ants. Lying flat on the tiles Joseph shuts one eye, reaches up and cups the Channel Four copter in his wrinkled hands.
My very short story “After The Flood” appears online at Word Riot.