Series of mediocre events:
I'm happy because I'm done with work! Turned off the computers, music equipment, closed up the music library, swing open the doors and of course it is raining. I'm wearing a short-sleeved, v-cut, lime green shirt, high waters, and pink oxford tennis shoes (I know I'm not matching, but at least I'm not wearing white). Before I go down the stairs I hesitate, testing to see how hard the rain is falling.
It's raining really fucking hard and to make matters worse the wind is blowing, so once I move from the protection of the terrace a thousand and one water droplets are going to smack me in the face and they do.
Now I'm running home, the rain can make you do crazy things look at Spiderman and MaryJane and all those other romantic movies and scenes that involve making out (sex) and rain! I run across the grass and mud, Hulet and Jenks, and I'm on the path that leads to parking lot.
This average white guy (I mean come on I'm in Canton, NY and a black guy in the rain that's asking for too much! It's like asking for fried chicken in Dana! . . . plus as Sam has pointed out: a black guy running in the rain would be considered ghetto (he must be running from the cops) for a white guy it's innovative, romantic (he's running to his lover)) with groceries comes out of no where. He's running really fast. He runs past me and our shoulders bump.
He looks back. I look back.
He calls out, "I'm sorry."
"It's all right," I say loud enough.
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