He felt the rain.
Felt each individual droplet hit his skin like a personal insult.
He walked the streets for hours, in spite or because of it,
perhaps a bit of both.
He played misanthrope and savior,
but only inside of his own head.
Mostly
He was alone, and lonely with it,
hearing the slide and squeak of his sneakers on the pavement,
feeling the dampness seep through his hooded sweatshirt
and into his solar plexus.
An eternal cloudy day.
He thought deep thoughts and mused great muses,
wrote a song and kicked a beer bottle into the lake
But mostly
He felt the rain
and reveled in it.
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