Rain buffets hard and I mean from nowhere - like outta some damn Mickey Spillane novel. I stand under an awning on the corner of 2nd and Ninos Heroes, sucking on a Lucky and feeling the warm effects of a whiskey shot lost in the nights darkness; drops bounce up splattering my khakis. The baying of a passing ambulance, distant rumble of air hammers, always building and repairing in The City.
The sky is illuminated with blue surges of electrical fire. Rain falls hard, drenching me and the scrawny hooker tittering on the corner in her see through plastic pumps. She bear a resemblance to a melting wax figure, like she is suffering a repugnant disease. She squawks at me and through the rainy haze and the sound of her voice that she is actually a he. I press on – dark streets now have become rivers and sewage outlets spew forth a winters worth of back up.
I saw him crying in the rain and many people didn’t give it a second thought. I could distinguish his tears from the raindrops as he kept his face toward the sky. He simply let the rain crash against his face as if he was releasing all that was inside him. Releasing his hurt, his pain and frustration.
I didn’t stare too long or hesitate to act. I simply walked over and put my arm around him. I didn’t have an umbrella to offer. So we walked off together without any words continuing to let the rain cleanse him of his sorrow. He utters the soft touch to get home. Pay fifty pesos for a cab. He is gone, like his tears in the rain.
2pm marks the gentle buzz of 24hr coffee shops and the placating hum of humanity untroubled in light conversation with friends and lovers. Light pattering of rain against the thick glass of the cafés windows and doors as small and pleasant reminders to not let your thoughts drift too far. The hiss of the milk steamer fully brings me back to reality. I hear people around me laughing at dreary anecdotes, flirting through generic compliments and responding in awkward disbelief. The couple to my left, knees entwined are uttering in a hushed tone about how much they love one another over the slowly rising steam of their coffees. Hair twirled in slender fingers and cheeks rise in rouge. I sigh contemptuously; an unconscious decision. The tepid café Americano sat before my eyes condensates gently, similarly to the rain outside. The water rolls slowly down the plastic cup onto the deep mahogany countertop, creating a small pool that is sure to dampen my sleeve when I’m not paying attention. I push my glasses further up on the bridge of my nose to readjust my vision, allowing me to focus on the nature outside from the comfort of being inside. That is, assuming being inside the coffee shop is more comforting. I gaze down toward my blank notebook.
Outside the rain came down in whispering sheets. It was the middle of the night - washed-out glares of lamplight flared through the torrent that splashed upon empty, gloomy streets. No cars, no people out this night.
I’d rather be at home…if I had one.