Sometimes the rain is shy. It hides in clouds; clouds who aren't shy. The clouds will come right up and get in your face because they don't give a fuck. But the rain.

It addresses itself as layers onto sidewalk. Lipid-thin, not tamagoyaki. The thickness comes with its sheer volume, which only appears once a month. Months aren't long, years aren't long. The time accelerates as you move less, spatially. The rain builds up. Expressed, maybe, by percentages.

Now, instead of a 1%, 2%, 6%, there's a new kid in town. All other percentages are replaced with 20.606060606060606, and I assume it goes on like that forever.