Read by Silas Hawkins
They say that in the City of London, you’re never more than 6ft from a rat.
Mine was called Boris.
When people said there was a rat following me, I didn’t believe them. I assumed it was an elaborate joke, the sort of thing my brother would orchestrate. I’d laugh, and they’d shake their head and swear that they were sure they’d seen SOMETHING.
Then I saw the SOMETHING they’d seen running along a countertop. I only glimpsed it out of the corner of my eye, but it was fast, and brown.