He can see the storm cloud approaching as he comes down the hill to Foggy Bottom. He feels the first drops, heavy and thick on his scalp and arms — real water splashing on his skin. Ahead, the umbrellas pop and flutter like too-fat birds. They flock to the escalator funnel, diving down underground, seeking dark shelter from the storm. He stops in front of a lamp post and turns his face to the rain. Weighted drops pepper his eyelids, lips and tongue. In a landscape of gray and glass he can feel the rain, smell the earth and know he is alive.
