The tea cup clouds were reason enough. Reeling, the clock hands spun on an axis wobble noon flirted with night and I broke into a run as the sky opened its maw and screamed. Even the suits scramble for burrows. Retrospection always has a punchline. Hide away, slide away Stop looking at my *******, please. Now watch wide-eyed behind public glass, with a sitcom gang of affable protagonists who are now late for their respective chapters Staring at their phones, willing the weather forecast to telepathically change. The light strobes, the bricks quiver sympathetically and I riddle a fourteen year old pantheon as they sway, as they jaunt ankle deep in charged water daring each other and daring the sky daring the noise with headphones still around necks like defiant plastic boas Clothes plastered, mouths open, rain-drunk feeling ****, revealing secret intimate shapes, feeling sheepishly exposed next to crushes who will kiss them at the next movie. I am aware of each nerve as I drip and shiver I'm terrified of storms, my reasons are mine but even this fear can cat-stroke my skin hyper-sensitized, electric and make me feel ****, too.