He arrived on night’s wing. The town sensed his evil nature, whetted stakes by torchlight. The coffin is rock-heavy. I put them in there.

The S.W.A.T team shot him when he opened up his jacket. Then they took out every dove from the air to neutralise any further threat.

They celebrated the New Year with fireworks. One wiped out the dinosaurs. They planned another wild party on the next galactic cycle.

For a moment I was 21. Then he looked away. I was back at a bar I didn’t know in a city I never liked. The inches between us became miles.

Grandpa’s descent was complete. He cowered, in a smock, snagging forks and grasping straws, yawping eternally, “Dey heah to take mah guns!”

The website asked if I was human. I think so. Phone in hand, computer whirring, bright screens light my day. No, I think I still am.