Down Pour

Ah, the rain. It barely rains here, but when it does people act like it's a foot high snow storm or the apocalypse.

I quite like it. It's soothing to watch. Even when I'm at work I steal a moment to sit under the exterior covered break room table and gaze. There was always something fresh and inspiring about it, especially during the night time.

When I was in school, Kimber managed to take free range of my car leaving me the bus to and from my campus. Most of my classes were at night and I didn't get home until a late hour. At that hour, no one was really around especially when it rained. Since it barely rains, I was always caught off guard, like so many of the freak out drivers commuting around this filthy city. I would stand in a downpour with nothing but a hoodie for protection and watch the rain pound the glittered cement, as I waited for the bus.

After a while of staring I visualized a type of beauty. I loved the way the wet cement reflected business lights or neon signs on its surface. I especially liked the look of a wet covered man hole. The sight of it was utterly breath taking and transported me back to a time when things weren't so obese and distasteful. When men were courteous and women were classy. When people used the words ma'am and sir sincerely and not as a form of punishment for old age. When it used to rain more often. When everything was lush and green. Where roads weren't cluttered with dog shit and styrofoam.

All of these things I saw from an old, slick, plate of steel. And yet when I snapped out of it I had a harder time finding beauty within the present world in front of me. Even within Kimber.