Monsoon Season

So I'm out walking last night, as I have a wont to do. I was grooving on the mix gdog cooked up for me (see yesterday's post). About an hour and a half in, heading home, it began to spatter a bit of rain.

There was a lightning storm on when I left home. To the north some beligerent clouds had decided to break it up with trillions of volts of electron streams shooting for miles across the sky. Apparently some kind of domestic dispute, if I had to guess by the fury of it. When the electronic songs came on the cloud-to-cloud flashes, combined with the moving shadows from headlights and the glitter of fireflies and streetlamp glare from metal corners reminded me of the light shows that you encounter in clubs. The grass, bushes, and trees, the damp garden earth smell, everything belied that and yet on the deserted residential streets there was just as much plasticised as organic life.

My feet did their lumpy patter along brick boulevards and asphalt strips. The base drum and snare became my heartbeat, or anyway less a slave rhythm than a cherubic, smiling metronome of sound. And if you think that last sentence is the worst I have to offer just stick around, constant reader; no doubt I can outdo myself in this regard. I exited the golf course (such as it is, poor pitiful thing) and crossed back into familiar turf, heading through dark ranch houses and unused porch lights, along next to an elementary school, and then a lake fell from the sky.

Drops splattered my sweat from my face, they invaded my shoes, snuck into my pockets, soaked my electronic equipment, obscured all sight. The rain couldn't come down in sheets: it was falling in bales, in blankets; it turned the air into a cool shower. The tall old trees here huddled under their own leaves and waited, drinking, sluicing down rivulets onto me. I felt as though I'd stepped into a river. Nowhere was there a dry spot to be had except under folks' porches. I borrowed a few. I was eight or ten blocks from home. I began to jog, and lightning blasted once again before the lashing rain drowned everything else out. I ran, with rain coming horizontally into my underwear. I stopped, gave up. I laughed. I strolled, wetly, past houses known and unknown to me. I passed under streetlamps like illuminated showerheads. A couple sat on their porch, watching the flashflood over poorly drained streets at the intersection near my garage. "Nice night!" I yelled as I passed by smiling, and they laughed.

When I returned home, a party was being held in my absence. Someone mistook me for being barely wet--there were no dry places on me to contrast the sodden places with. They should have been outside.

(Note: moneymaking scheme #1129--waterproof iPod.)


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