Rain is More Than A Hippie Name

Some people run away from the rain. I tend to run towards it. I guess it's for many reasons. First of all, I never wear expensive clothing. Second of all, I never wear expensive shoes. Third of all, sometimes I like to sneak a bar of soap outside in my pocket and than take a shower in the middle of the street. Just because I can. But I didn't sneak a bar of soap out today. I just went out into the rain.

I saw her before she saw me. In fact, I don't think she can see me at all. She is off in her own world, in whatever the hell kind of world those people live in. And by those people I mean fortune tellers, which I group in the same category as goths, supernaturalists, and religious people. I can no longer call her gait a walk. She is nothing less than staggering. Staggering through the park.

The rain pours down my face. I don't know why I'm following her but I am. I guess I have nothing better to do. She collapses under the slide, escaping from the rain. I turn and walk away.

Minutes, maybe hours later, an ambulance sounds. It seems to be coming from the general direction of the daycare center. I don't really think nothing of it. Another injury, perhaps a death, that's all it means. Lost, trapped in this dismal town, I find it hard to care. It's ironic that a town cursed by its people curses its people. It's as ironic as a fortune teller predicting her own death and than dying.

The Kay Jewelers commercial pries its way into my head. I start to get kind of... annoyed. I guess in this town "Every Kiss" will never begin with "E". Maybe it just has to be like that here. Forever.

Me, Myself, and Sub-Ingredients. Irene ran away.

I'm sitting at the Subz. The air inside is surprisingly cool and refreshing, a mountain spring amidst a see of industrialized plastic water bottles. The roach problem is all but gone; the stray leg still remains among the black olives. I am STILL angry over the Kay Jeweler's commercial. If I ever become wealthy enough I will open my own store called "E" and use the EXACT same advertising slogan. The door to the shop opens and a man walks in. He looks pretty ordinary, which in this town is extremely unordinary. 

"How may I help you sir?" I ask with feigned interest, almost as if I really cared about how I could help him. 

"I want a sub." He replied. I refrain from calling him out on his brilliant statement of the obvious. 

"What kind would you like sir?" He tells me. I make it for him. I wrap it for him. He pays for it. He leaves. 

I look around fondly at my world of meats, vegetables, condiments, and breads. I realize that even though I utterly despise the mundaneness of my job, this store is still a part of me. When I run away in a few days, I will miss it. And I'll REALLY miss all the free food. 

My eyes drift lazily towards each other. My heads lolls towards my chest. I don't even know if "lolls" is a word. If it isn't, it should be. Before I know it, I am in a deep sleep, a calm sleep, one that is usually reserved for babies, and teenagers on the weekend. As I sleep, I dream. I dream that I am walking through a field of marshmellows in my flip-flops. A man rushes towards me and starts yelling, but his words are all jumbled and I can't understand what he was saying. My dad was there, but he didn't LOOK like my dad, and that was freaking me out. I walk up to a revolving door at the end of the marshmellow field. A sign next to the door reads "pull on it". I pull on it. I am an idiot.