Friday fictioneers #41: divorce, post-apocalypse style.

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You’re not getting the house he said, I was born in this house.

I don’t want it.

What do you want?

I want the sea.

I use the sea.

You have to give me something.

Why do I have to give you something?

Because we were married and now we’re not. Everything we own we own jointly.

But everything’s gone. All I have is this coat and boots, and my fishing rod.

Alright, give me one of the boots.

What are you going to do with one boot? It’s a twelve! You’re a four!

You have to give me something.