Josie had made toast but the butter dish was empty, she headed out to the corner shop. Her street was piled with bin bags slumped against full wheeley bins after the weekend. They were not pretty, foxes had ripped into the loosely tied plastic carriers scattering the street with slimy salad bags and the mouldy heels of bread. But propped against all this fetid rubbish something glinted. Josie thought it was beautiful. She was having that clock, she’d grab it when she came back from the shop. But half way down the street, she turned around and sprinted back, she grabbed the clock and quickly lodged it inside her front door. She headed out again to get the butter. Five minutes later, she was back on her road, butter in hand. She stopped to let a bin lorry pass. The street was clear again, all the rubbish had gone. And her clock sat safely at the foot of her stairs.

07 Jun 2016