The rain was heavy but the music in my headphones was bumping. A storm had blown up sometime in the predawn hours and seemed to just stick to the buildings and swirl above us. The city was power washed all morning, and seemed unable to do anything but grin and bare it.
All over town people hunkered down in their apartments or cozy cafes. All bemoaning the loss of a weekend day to the whims of the weather gods. The lazy hours punctuated with the occasional glance up at the sky, followed by an annoyed mumble. Something about how it only seems to rain on the weekends. Then watches are checked, clocks watched, all wondering exactly when is ‘too early to start drinking.’ As the day wears on it seems to become more flexible, and soon the dreariness will give way to a bacchanal, 24 hours of pent up feeling and boredom will be sweated out on dancefloors and forgotten piece by piece with each shot.
I have always been a contrarian. I can never just seem to like what others do, or dislike their pet peeves. As such, I’m always down to be outdoorsy in the rain. I put on a polkadot raincoat and headed out into the city to find avocados.
Why avocados? The local supermarket hasn’t stocked them in a week and I’d like some for lunch.
The raindrops were a gentle massage on my back as I hunched over in the rain. Busses and cars went on their way, but I had the sidewalk to myself. I crossed a few streets to the subway station.
The heat from the tunnels hit me as I reached the top of the stairs. I descended into the humid complex. I was dripping from rain, the ceiling was too. I went down to the platform below. The trains were delayed, the weekend was always a bit slower and the station was mostly empty anyways. The city had seemed to decide that today was just not worth the effort. Home was preferable and walking to the subway, no matter how close it was to your house, was just not worth it.
I stood at the very back of the train, creating a small puddle of rain with the drops that rolled down off my jacket. The puddle shifted with the movement of the train. Down here, safe from the rain, it seemed strange to be soaked.
There was only one other person near me. He was an older man, dressed in construction clothes. His overalls had paint flakes, his hands had seen work. He was a sturdy man. I’d trust him to build a house for me. His mud boots were atypical for a man of his profession. Perhaps I’m stereotyping- but pink, polkadot My Little Pony boots, don’t really suit a burly lumberjack-build construction man.
Or perhaps they do, perhaps I’m the odd one for thinking otherwise. He looked up and saw my polkadot raincoat. He smiled and tugged at his shirt, seeming he liked my jacket. I smiled too, it might have been the only sunlight the city saw that day.
