Torrential rain batters the windows of the café in which she sits, further darkening the interior. Across grim skies thunder rumbles ominously, an ongoing symphony of pathetic fallacy. Damp weaves himself in and out of the café’s various nooks and crannies, past posts and chairs to settle at her table. The air is humid. One hand on her laptop, the other cupping her chin, Claire stares out at the flooding city street. She thinks of Jim, good man, hard worker, kind, loving. Once a friend and lover, now neither. But even things we’ve vowed change, and in the end, though she knows one never forgets these kinds of things, perhaps all that matters now is that she, like all people, is adaptable. He will move on. She will be all right.
You know this is the stuff I love reading from you. Good second day!
All thanks to you. I’m already thinking about today’s but don’t hold your breath. It will be here, but not just yet.