Our paths cross almost every day. Somewhere between where we have come from and where we are going. I know what we are going to talk about. We have talked about it for almost a decade now. You wouldn't go past anyone without stopping to talk about it. And it's just as well it's there because I don't know what we would have to say to one another otherwise.
You come up to me with your head bowed, your hands behind your back and the brittle gait of a man who is becoming old. Your mouth opens slightly and I can see the tip of your tongue moistening your lips with anticipated delight as you approach. Once you have reached the same bit of space as me, you pause, grin and then you look up at the sky, shake your head, and say:
"It won't rain today."
