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The weather outside is terrible; for the last week it's as if the skies have opened and poured down all the rain the clouds could muster. Exclusively on your house. You sit there watching terrible daytime television, wishing that the weather would improve. Secretly your glad - the city is totally flooded, there is no way you could make it to work.

Work is a nine to five, grey-suit-wearing, open plan office job, where you regularly get paid to frequent Facebook and make an occasional phone call. That would be fine, but you can't stand your boss or your colleagues. 

Thomas French owns half the city. He must be pretty pissed that half of it's under water. Mr French had a bad attitude and hated everyone, regardless of whether they were a good worker or not. He especially hated you. 

Suddenly the idea of being stuck at home watching the Jerry Springer show doesn't seem so bad.

You haven't moved for about eight hours. You really should make yourself some food, but the kitchen is a good twenty feet away. You call the pizza guy. The front door is half the distance to the kitchen. You can hear how spotty the kid is on the other end of the phone. He tells you someone will deliver your pizza in twenty minutes. You tell him, it better not be soggy. 

Avatar is on TV. You muse at it's likeness to Pocahontas.

Another ten minutes pass before there is a knock at the window, barely audible over the raging storm that the delivery guy must've swam through. 

You spend a moment to consider whether you can really be bothered to get up and pay the poor sod - they're going to want a tip. 

With a handful of fluff and coins gathered from under the seats of the sofa, you shuffle towards the door. 

On the other side of the door, much to your surprise stands a pretty girl in a cagoule...
 

The End

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