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  • "Come inside," he said. "It's raining."

    Yes, it was raining. Fat drops falling from a grey sky, turning the sidewalks into sheets of liquid glass. I stood out there and let it cover me, let it soak in through my shirt and pants, drip down to my socks, fill my shoes. My glasses fogged such that I could not see, so I took them off and put them in my breast pocket.

    "I love the rain," I said. It must have sounded a whisper against the rhythmic drumming around us.

    "You can love the rain from inside," he told me.

    "No," I replied. "I don't need to look through a window to see the sky."
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