Photo by Sourav Mishra on Pexels.com

3/13/2019 By Ethan Nelson

Falling from the clouds’ sheet of gray, the rains came tumbling down, pattering down. Fat drops. Plunk. Sploosh.
When the rains stopped, the old man, sopped, still stood. He was grinning, and he carried no umbrella. The harsh whiteness of his false teeth smile shone through even the gloom of the air, making the others dashing through the puddles and scummy mud caking the sidewalks wonder what he had to be so happy for. More than a few of them thought that he was delusional and should be reported to a therapist or a counselor.

Then a long roll of thunder broke across the sky, and the old man scurried down the long stretch of concrete linking the old Egyptian-themed movie palace to the new superstore, and as he ran, he kept his head down as if he were ashamed of something. Because he was walking just as they were, none of the others outside cared to look at the old man anymore. They all breathed in the musty, soaked air and went about their days, all but one of them toting bright banana yellow umbrellas, even though no rain fell from the sky anymore.

As they moved to the north, the clouds seemed to sigh.