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Rain, feel it on my finger tips, hear it on my window pane. Your love’s comin’ down like rain, wash away my sorrow, take away my pain. Your love’s comin’ down like rain.
— Rain, by Madonna. I like Boston rain. In last week’s downpour, someone asked to buy my umbrella. I said, “Sure, $30.” He laughed and said no. I kept walking. What did he think? I’d give it to him for $5 and stand in the store’s awning, like him, for the weather to pass? No, I had to go to the post office, dammit.
