Two nights ago I exited the bus a few blocks prior to my stop and opted to walk in the rain. I hadn't eaten a bite since breakfast, and my hunger pangs had given way to nausea as the bus jerked along San Francisco's clumsy streets. Though I had an umbrella en tow, I let the cold rain dribble down my cheeks and coat my frizzy curls.
Lately I'd lamented the belated winter rains, but that night, the moisture and damp air was soothing after a long day.
I tried to pull my thoughts away from earlier events: eyeing the cozy storefront of a used book store or listening to the din of wind chimes dangling from the awning of a sparsely filled Thai restaurant, but nothing could distract me from the clutter of earlier.
I love words, but that night, every configuration I stirred in my mind seemed flawed. So even after I passed my street, I kept walking and let the falling rain continue to drum against my head.