Here's the start of one I recently finished.

Warning!  Contains Bad Words, and if you're serious about your religion, you may not be so amused. 

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Thomas T. Tank walked down the street with his hands thrust deeply into his pockets.   Ignoring the people around him, he kicked at an abandoned can that happened to be lying in his path, and watched it bounce off a stone and land in the gutter, not at all where he aimed it. 

“Stupid life,” he scowled. 

It started to rain.

“Great.”  He felt in his shoulder bag for his umbrella, stopping as he remembered he’d given it to Sam, just before she dumped him.

“Bitch!” he shouted, to the shock of some old woman who happened to be walking by at that moment.  She tutted and stalked off, putting up a rather putrid colored pink umbrella in the process.

Tom, having no such luxury, putrid pink or otherwise, gritted his teeth.  He looked around and spotted a Starbucks over the other side of the street.  Checking his pocket to make sure he still had his wallet, the way his luck was going today you never could tell, he dodged the rush hour traffic and made his way to the store.

Inside was warm and almost deserted, so he was soon seated at a cozy corner table nursing a latte, a hatred towards umbrella stealing ex-girlfriends and the person who’d invented job interviews.

The one he’d just attended should have been a shoe-in.  He had all the right qualifications and experience.  It was just bad luck the interviewer had been such an ass, that’s all.  Some people you just hate on sight.

He took a gulp of coffee and shook his head as the mug hit the table top. 

“Life sucks doesn’t it?” 

Tom jerked back, slopping drink over the side of his mug. 

“Fuck…  I mean…  Sorry.  Where the hell did you come from?”

The man, who was suddenly sitting in the chair next to him, smiled.  He was dressed in an immaculate and extremely expensive looking dark suit with a perfectly white hanky tucked in the pocket.  Tom estimated his age to be maybe early fifties, but he was still handsome, in that Sean Connery type of mature man way.  Startling blue eyes bored into Tom, piercing, it seemed, into his very soul.  A wavy mass of shocking white hair bounced back as he ran manicured fingers through the locks.

“I’m everywhere all the time,” the man replied. 

Tom realized he was staring.  The man had some kind of… quality to him.  He wasn’t anywhere near gay, but if this chap had asked him to bend over and drop his pants, he probably would have.  The sheer charisma rolled off him like waves at high tide.

“Sorry, God,” the newcomer said, holding out a hand.

“What?”  Tom managed to look bewildered.

“God,” the man said again.

“God?”

“Yep.  Here’s my card.”  He slid over a plain white, glossy card. 

Tom picked it up.

“God,” he read.  “Tel: 1.  E-mail God@Heaven22.com.  Heaven22?”  He looked up and raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Heaven was taken.  My lawyers are on it.  Bloody cybersquatters.”

“Ah.  Yes.  I see.”  Tom put the card down, very slowly.

“So then,” God, as he’d introduced himself, leaned on the table, getting latte on his sleeve.  “I understand you’re in need of a job.”

“Maybe,” Thomas answered cautiously.  He wasn’t sure what to make of this person, but with rent due, and no current way to pay it, he was slightly more desperate than usual.

“Excellent.”  He picked Tom’s coffee up and took a sip.  “That’s a good latte, I knew I shouldn’t have allowed the devil to corner the hot beverage market.  Anyway, I have a job for you.  Interested?”

Tom looked at his drink as it was replaced on the table. 

“Well…” he said.
 

Thanks cochisewolf.  Here's another part...

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“Come on it’s not that hard.”

Tom started to reach for his coffee, but stopped halfway.  No telling where this fellows’ lips had been.   

“No offence or anything,” he said.  “But if you’re… you know, God, surely you can do things without… help?”

The man, or deity, pulled that sort of grimace/smiley face and sucked in.  “Well,” he said.  “Technically speaking, yes.  However, it’s not as easy as you’d think.  There are rules.”

“But surely you make the rules?”  Tom decided to take the risk, and sipped at his latte again.  He raised his eyebrows as he tasted it.  The beverage was silky smooth!  He took another sip, more eagerly this time.

“I do, but…  Look, it’s hard to explain, even for me.  Just take my word for it.”

Reluctantly putting his coffee back on the table, Tom faced God again.  “Listen, not to sound… you know, offensive or anything, but…  I’m an atheist.  I don’t even believe in you.”

“I know.  One reason I chose you.”

“Really?  Why?  I’d have thought your lot would be all too keen to help out.”

“Yes, they are, but most of the time they simply fall to their knees and start prattling on about how they’re not worthy and so forth.  It gets embarrassing.”

“Okay, but first…”

“How do you know I’m not some wacko?”  God raised an eyebrow.  “Go on then.  Ask me to do something.  Just not world peace or how women think okay?  Some things are beyond even me.”

“Very well.”  Tom looked around, his eyes settling on the window and the rain outside.  “Make it stop raining.”

“Oh, is that all?  I thought you’d wish for wealth or sex appeal or something.  The weather’s easy.” 

“Go on then.”

“I just did.”

“But it’s not… oh.”  As Tom looked on, the rain eased, then stopped, to be replaced by sunlight that filtered down, at first gently, but then brightly.  People stopped in the street and looked up, bewildered by the sudden change.

“Wow, that is impressive.  Especially considering it’s evening.”  Tom nodded.

“It’s evening?  Oh bugger it.  I tend to lose track of where I am.”  God tapped the table, and the sunlight dimmed.  The street returned to a more normal level of illumination.

“Well, that seems to be fairly conclusive,” Tom said, leaning back and finishing off his suddenly wonderful drink.  “So, what’s the job and how much does it pay?”

“It’s basically a freelance role.  You’d work for me whenever I needed something doing in your part of the world.  The pay is… heavenly.”  God looked at him and then shook his head slightly as Tom’s face remained blank.  “For this one, all you have to do is kill someone.”

“Kill someone?  As in… kill?”  Tom’s eyes widened. 

“Yep, kill.  Murder, do in, whack.  However you want to call it.”

“I can’t kill someone!”

“Why not?  You lot are always killing each other.  It’s no wonder the devils’ winning… Oops.  Forget I said that.”

“Forget what?” asked Tom, scratching his head and trying to remember what he’d been thinking about. 

“Look, it’s a simple job.  Gun to the head… bam!  It’s done, and your rent’s paid, with enough left over to buy that car you’ve been wanting.  I’ll even throw in the gun.”

“But it’s a sin!”  Tom

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is!  Thou shalt not kill!”

“Oh those!  Why does everyone always bring them up?  I was having a laugh!  He’d just climbed all the way up that mountain and was standing there with those big puppy-dog eyes of his.  I had to give him something.  I just never thought the idiot would go around carving the things in stone.  What a twat he was.  Do you know how long it took him to cross that desert?  He just wouldn’t stop and ask for directions.  Asshole. “

“So it’s not a sin?”

“Frankly, who gives a toss?  It’s not like it ever stops anyone anyway is it?”

“But I want to go to heaven!”

“That I can help with.  There’s this hooker down on Stone Street, man, what she can’t do with her mouth, and that sweet little…”

“No!  I mean when I die!”

“Oh, yeah, that one.  Fine, I’ll save you a spot, once the remodeling’s done and we open up again you’ll be the first in line.  Within the first million or so anyway.”

“Arg.”  Tom clutched at his head.  “Who’s the target anyway, not that I’m promising anything mind.”

God smiled and slid a photo across the table. 

Tom picked it up.