I’m standing in the park under a tree. It’s raining. I’m getting wet, but not as wet as out there, in the open.
Little balls of hail break through, like seed pods. One hits me on the back of my neck, but it doesn’t hurt.
These are the things that I think about:
That I probably won’t go for my run tonight.
That I should have stopped 2 minutes earlier, before the park, where there is a pub.
That that man standing under his own tree probably thinks I’m texting or on Facebook.
That I frequently seem to write about this park and this time.
Time passes. I make a dash for the pub. If you’re gonna be wet, you may as well be happy.
(Def no run tonight)