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  • It was coming down in sheets as it tended to this time of the year. It was designed to soak you to the bone no matter how expertly you wielded an umbrella.

    It is easy to romanticize the rain from the warmth and dryness of your home, he shrugged. Maybe sing a song even. Fresh start, new lease of life, the cycle continues, and other happy thoughts that go with a cup of warm something.

    He didn't have a home but this was a good year. His sieve-like umbrella was not his only protection. He had found an abandoned car. The dry patch of its musty interior was his kingdom.

    A happy tune escaped his lips.
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