There was not a cloud in the sky when the rain began. Not water-rain. A single moist slap on the tarmac announced the start.
I turned. A mackerel flapped iridescent on the empty roadway. Then another. Scales brushed my cheek, like the beard scratch of a lover’s kiss. Fish began to fall in torrents.
When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. I looked up, hoping to see spuds too, so I could open a fish and chip shop.
But miracles aren’t what they used to be. There weren’t even any bloody loaves.