From my vantage point in the café I stare outside at the greyscape, watching the mechanical rhythm of the outside world move through the air. Click clack click clack I imagine their boots go. Pearls of raindrops prick the concrete cement and erupt into splashes of little lakes. The trucks and cars go by, their tires gliding a top the water, fanning water like wings, reminding me of a peacock flashing her feathers.
On these days, there’s always that fresh-rain-on-cement smell – if I were a candle maker, this is the scent I would spend my life’s work trying to recreate and bottle. Rainy days call for lazy days, entangled betwixt my bedding, cold from the crispness of the sheets but warm from coziness.
Instead, I have to go to work. Today the trip feels more like a pilgrimage - a long journey requiring much effort and hardship. I’ll trudge through the moist streets, holding my umbrella a little higher than everyone else so to keep an advantage of quickness when I walk. The subway cars always carry a heaviness of humidity mixed with sweat and other human odors on these rainy days.