Under water

Flash Fiction

August 19, 1922 - New York

“They are wetter than the men.” The reporter stated this with a dryness. He struck a light anywhere match on the wet ground where he held a press conference. The oak trees spread out over the ground, and the let some sun into the green. Always green to keep the politicians in line, however loosely and disorderly. But the saloon calls after Church.

Who will stop the rain?

The proceedings broke up with a girl looking up at a boy. “Should we go?” Said she.

The boy smiled under the gray damp fedora. “Sure, I did not learn anything. ‘Cept everyone tells the story their own way.”

“Yeah, it is soggy here I didn’t know what to expect.”

The camera pans out with no sound. There was a dyke that pour forth a flood. They walk towards a speakeasy.

“So, who are you going to vote for, old man?”

“Oh, the dry.” He elevates his raincoat against the wind.

“Why’s that?” She looks puzzled under her derby chapeau.

“I know where he drinks.”