The Rainstorm

The clouds gather; the sun dims its glare, only to increase the stifling heat. Even before the sky darkens, one knows something is coming–a storm, a hail, a gust, or even a tornado–anything that kills the humidity, whatever the contingent damage. Please come, please come. I yearn for it. It has been a hot humid day all day long. The perpetuity of blinding lights, so hot and so intense, is oppressive. Not that I experience it. My sedentary work, my passive life of a sloth makes me a prisoner of my air conditioned environment, an environment I didn’t grow up with and haven’t completely adjusted to. Growing up, I am used to taking several showers a day in summer, and working on homework with a cup of ice water and a wet towel. I always feel like existing in two persons–one closeted body in the cooled room; one sweating in the natural furnace.

The rain comes, quick, intense, pouring, and the pleasant splashing sound brings me to the window. I see people running half annoyed half happy, car rushing with that typical sound of wheels pressing wet surface. The wind comes too. The gust sends rain drops sidewise, as if to force them parallel to the ground, but not successfully.

There’s no better way to enjoy the cleared up sky and the cooler air than a drive to Trader Joe’s. 82F is not the best, but it’s so much better than what the rain has swept away.

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