We're not so hard when it rains. Ambulances weave their way in choked arteries, the streets give off the putrid smell of wet city -- what the black lungs of every 405 commuter must smell like. Everything is damp, flat and miserable. We drive worse than usual, our post-adolescent crises hit harder than usual, everything goes straight to hell.
Lonesome and tired, sequestered in our apartments, then cars, then offices, then cars, then apartments again, we hit the only place we can think of that will serve up what we want: Craigslist casual encounters. One warm body, just for one night.
And a joint.
Or, a fuck to forget the loneliness:
Or, a shower for the showers, because that's so meta and as long as we're clever, we don't have to reflect too hard on ourselves:
Or, a trip back to high school:
Or, a game of house...
Though perhaps that's all of us here.