after me comes the flood

by Marty Shambles

I guess I could tell about the time before the flood— back when we knew the flavor of charred meats like we know the taste of murky water now. We’d sit back in the lawn chairs, surrounded by immaculate lawns, watching the coals burn down to just the right amount of grey before we threw the burgers on. We had pools, and we swam to each other’s houses when we needed to borrow a cup of sugar. Swimming with sugar was a weird thing to do, but we did it, and we were happy about it because everything was made of plastic and the sun was brighter but cooler. I was in business. I carried a briefcase. My wife was hotter than the sun. Anything I put my mind to seemed to happen on its own, and I thought that was normal. I played life on easy mode because of imperial plunder pouring into the metropole. A severe violence on the world upheld my way of life. Every weekday I would go to work and say business words at people and then come home as if I’d done something. Somehow, this justified my sprawling house, 3 cars, 3 kids, and hot wife. I would be so stressed from all the business things that I would be an asshole to everyone until my hot wife sucked me off. Then we’d eat broiled steaks with whole potatoes and mac and cheese. We would shit bricks every night. I would watch TV for signs of business. Any indication of what to buy or sell would send my business mind reeling, thinking of supplies and demands from all over the world weaving the glove of the invisible hand. (When my hot wife sucked me off I imagined the invisible hand was jacking me off.) This was how the business mind worked. It was powerful.