Her shoes are drenched and useless. She feels that they have filled with water and everytime she steps, the miniature flood rises up against her socks and soaks them further. Everyone is rushing, trying to escape the sudden, unexpected downpour, but she moves slowly, glad that she is numb. She hears slightly hysterical and giddy shrieking, as people recognize one another and laugh at the ridiculousness of the weather.
Every plant is so green, as though the rain somehow accentuates the natural. It's a little discombobulating, contrasted as it is, with the heavy grey sidewalks and buildings. She counts the divisions in the sidewalk, thinking that is she can fill her mind with numbers, bottomless numbers, she won't have to be alone with her thoughts for longer than neccesary. She is selfish.
As she comes to a crosswalk, she takes her time looking both ways, leery of cars that can't see her, dressed as she is in hues of charcoal and slate. There is a pamphlet plastered to the road, advertising some show or another, but she passes it before she can fully read it. A car crosses after her and seals it further to the asphalt with its tires. She has stopped counting and as her mind wanders toward something that she'd rather not contemplate. She starts again.
It seems so appropriate, this rain. Unabashed and unfaltering. Adamant and melancholy. She wonders when it might end. She expects that she'll have damp clothing to remember it by for hours.
She trudges on forward, a hapless monster in the bludgeoning wet.
