Last night it rained like fifty-five years ago. It rained like when I was a kid in New Port Richey, Florida summer thunderstorms, bucketfulls coming down and I couldn't wait to get my swimsuit
on and get out in it. Racing around the yard like a space ranger, soggy grass squishing my toes and the glow of my dad's cigarette on the dark front porch. Then the exit, sitting, out of breath, wrapped in a thick towel with a cup of hot chocolate.
Last night, when it rained the first wet drop, I went inside and watched.
