Quite a bit of rain has fallen on me. Not heavy rains, but soft whispering rains that pester me from just over my shoulder even as I see sunlit parts of my city in the distance. Middling rain or heavy rain is my preference as I ride my motorcycle. Light rain strikes the ground and the ground spits back a mist that blurs the face shield of my helmet, turning my field of vision into one metastasizing cataract.

Heavier rain beads nicely, obedient to the laws of hydrodynamics, and rolls away. Light rain mist will gather into a stray droplet, tear-like, and trickle leisurely along. These drops tend to surprise me. There have been slow-waking misty mornings where I startle and for an instant, think they are my own tears. Heavy rains are more polite, and almost never toy with my emotions.

I cut a piece of a windshield wiper and I meant to attach it to my wet-weather gloves, but I never did. I don't know where the piece is now. But I know where there are windshield wipers.

* * * *

I've not written much on ye old blog. I'd like to say I've been very busy working on the screenplay for Murk, but the agencies have blacklisted me after I Rick-Rolled the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. How did I manage it? Simple enough. I merely kidnapped his son and claimed that I was "never gonna give him up" alive if Rick didn't meet my demands.

Works every time.