the rain always seems to come at the opportune moment to start again. after so many “one of these days,” came and went, the feeling of looking at your ground drenched in downpour omnipotent gaze through the screen door. a dejected pile of your recent pasts, last middle-of-street collapse rushing over the mound in the middle of the concrete washed down opposing gutters on the edge of the street. making their way to drains at the bottom of the hill emptying everything but you and yourself.