Secret Pop

Oct 3, 2002

Dark and Dastardly

I love the rain. Even when I've just washed my car. Even when I have to go out in it. Even when I have to go out in it and am wearing suede. Even when it's hot rain. Even when it's icy rain. I love it when the air is filled with it. It's akin to being a fish. Being in the water and still able to breathe. It causes you to squint and tuck in and fold your arms and hurry. I especially like the hurrying part. It causes you to notice the windowpanes. It makes the wind sound melodic. It makes soup taste better. It gives you an excuse to curl up under a blanket. It smells like cherries when it's cold. Like the inside of a closet when it's hot. It tastes like nothing. It spoils mascara and ruins hairdos. It causes tires to kick up a fizzy-sounding wake.

And it washes it all away.

And then it's gone. Like a good Samaritan.

I am cold and tingly. I can hear crickets. I imagine they are longing for the rain, too.

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