Rained Out

The trickle increased. The block party moved under umbrellas and awnings, anxious hipster bodies huddled tightly together without seeing each other, without touching. We moved between bars, gigs, warm basement spaces where no words were heard, only quick glances at indifferent shoulders, feet moving temporarily to heavy beats. A band played in a window; we stood outside to hear their last giggles. The rain picked up and we pointed our one umbrella ahead of us, in two steps we were home.

I woke up for a second. The rain had turned into a flood, the streets were quiet. The summer party washed away. Tomorrow, we wake late. The morning will be new. The city, too.