It's officially going to rain... I swear t'God. Environment Canada says so.
The clouds is a'building over the plains. The traffic grinds slowly across the river and out to the confusion of suburbs. Honking, engines revving, tempers boiling.
People stroll along the riverbanks where it's less muggy.
Pretty girls in tight shirts, blading with their boys, making clack-clacks on the concrete.
Trench-coat suits complete with cell phones pour out of the towers into the bars to unwind and drink expensive vodka.
Meantimes, an old alkoholic solicits donations. But he swears it's only for food.
An assortment of office cannon fodder stand on a platform waiting for their trains. In a hiss of pneumatic doors and a whine of electric traction they're sucked off to the innumerable suburbs. Off to their spouses, progeny, big-ass televisions and the 6 o'clock news.
The patios crowd with dinner patrons who want to get in one last bloody caesar and steak sandwich before the rain.
'Cus it's gonna rain. I swear on Jesus, Buddha, an' Allah, the Great and Merciful. Environment Canada doesn't lie. Those kPa's are dropping and the wind's blowin' west-south-west. A buncha black daddy clouds are rolling down from the Rockies. Those clouds are all hung over and intent upon ruining everybody's good time. They're gonna rumble and tumble and piss with rain.
I ain't making it up! Check the radio. Check the fuckin' Weather Network. Check the bloody World Wide Web! The rain, it's coming!
Some people, they trust God. Some people think its all spelled out in that blinking confusion of the nighttime sky. Me, I put my dimes on teams of climatologists, meteorologists, and guy watching the chicken guts at the old D of E Weather Office out at the International Airport. 'Cus, man, if the 747's trust 'em, then it's good enough for me.
You feeling that wind? It's positively fecund. See that cloud out on the western horizon? It's fuckin' pregnant with it! My head aches, my grammy's rheumatiz' is screaming again. The cows are lying down! Numerous empirical data points to one conclusion: it is going to rain!
But that all means roughly nothing, as far as I am concerned. The bloody weather office has licked their index fingers, taken two snorts into the breeze, tapped their barometers and made an announcement:
It is going to rain.
MAK
8 V 2000
Written at the "Planet" café, 2212 4th Street S.W., Calgary, Alberta, Canada.
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The preceding story and associated graphic are Copyright © 2000 M A Kitchen, and are his intelectual property. All rights reserved. Despite the fact that this was placed on geocities' webspace, the author asserts that this is HIS work, and may only be reproduced with HIS express, written permission!