Under the Weather


“But it’s not my fault it’s raining!” I exclaimed to the officer who’d just placed the handcuffs round my wrists.

“They’re designed to expand. It’s what I pay for them to do,” I said.

The officer had now chained me to the nearest lamppost while waiting for his colleagues from homicide. He was inspecting the scene carefully, occasionally stopping, looking at me, then shaking his head as he wandered to the next pair of legs protruding from the saturated white mass in the middle of the shopping precinct.  Sales assistants peered from doorways and stock room windows. The busker had stopped playing his ukulele version of I Want to Break Free and was trying to decide what, if anything, he could play next. Dogs sat, tied to lampposts and drainpipes, looking sorrowfully at me. A line of Motability scooters formed, and grey ladies peered over their baskets through magnified eyes and under plastic headscarves, lips dangling like dried apricots. Babies dribbled in bulky pushchairs wondering why their mothers had curtailed their journey. The joins between the crazy paving were slowly taking on a red hue, dribbling its way like carefully constructed rivers, bits of pigeon scattered on their banks. A discarded McDonald’s chip floated on one of the rivers, like a lost un-nutritious boat that will never rot. Of the next victim, only his feet remained, beshoed and soggy. The force of the suck had ripped the rest of him from them. His torso must be in the process of absorption. Soon the gathering crowd would be able to see the delicate pink stain within the whiteness.

“A sorry state of affairs,” said the policeman, shaking his head.

It appears, you see, that you shouldn’t leave your pocket open in the rain when it contains the super absorbent deluxe maxi expandie tampon. People may get seriously hurt.



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