On Thursday I got together with S and we hung out. Everyone else cancelled for the night, so it was just the two of us. We had dinner, chatted, the usual. We were walking down past Washington Square park when the downpour began, and fortunately he had an umbrella because I hadn't brought a damn thing. So we huddled under his umbrella and made our way down the block and under the somewhat protective cover of a building and stood there, dripping. We headed into La Lanterna Caffe to dry off and get some dessert, and stayed there for at least two hours. I was still wet when we left, although I did use the candle on our table to dry the worst of it up.
I dunno, I suppose it's terribly unromantic of me, but I hate rain, especially rain in the city. When you're out under the trees and with grass all around you and it's a hot summer day, then the rain doesn't seem so bad. I remember a few days in the summer, growing up, where I'd be walking outside and was caught in the rain and I welcomed it. It was a delight after the sweaty heat, but not in the city. In the city, rain is oppressive, it's dark, and it's dreary. The only good thing about rain in the city is being inside, warm and bundled, and looking out the window at the rain crashing down, seeing the reflections of the car lights in the puddles and the smears of colors reflecting off the windows.
There's nothing beautiful about being out in it, though. God, I hate the rain.
I'm overtired and grumpy and feeling practically illiterate. Bah.