They came to the point every year to place flowers in commemoration of their father.
It’d started as a joke. A bad pun. And now it was going to destroy human civilisation.
Tuesday 10th September 2013.
The date that my Father died.
Nobody knew why they came at first.
The flatboat and the mule rotated slowly like the inexorable turn of the earth on its axis, drifting down the muddy current of the rain-swollen stream.
Pier 39 is where the magic happens.
What they didn’t warn me about the End of Days was that it would get pretty boring.