Rain, England, Rain
The sky was grey, yet the atmosphere was cheery. People ducked in and out of each other's way with accidental precision. Dogs lapped up muddy water, content as can be. People could see their own breath evaporate into the fog. The clock tower solemnly watched the scene before itself, grim, still and majestic.
A woman walked alone along the beaten path, her boots positively caked. Her bag swung back and forth as she wordlessly trundled along the seemingly unlimited space. Her mind was on the moment.
As she neared the taxi rank, the rain began. The clouds ravaged their lovers, and drenched their victims. Situational pandemonium. People rushed towards oak trees, pubs, black cabs and archways.
But the woman remained in the ever-growing downpour, aimlessly wondering.
A taxi-man lowered his window, perhaps out of concern or out of survival instinct.
"Don't you want to go home?," he asked innocuously.
The woman turned slowly to him, face and hair completely drenched. Then she beamed the biggest grin you'd ever seen. It stretched across her face like mating cheekbones.
"I am home."
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