I walk in and out of the library's isle and listen to the rain of the outdoors softly resound through the building. The thick walls and layers of cement strip the sound of any definition; the soft tapping resembles the crackling of an old record player much more than drops of rain. The floor to ceiling glass that encases the library, however, offers any lost description needed to aid any potential confusion. One look in any direction: south, northeast, southwest, west, any direction one could prefer would display a window, long, thick and yellowed, set in heavy panels around the building, ready to reveal the mystery of that strange clicking, ready to rob one of his or her silly suspicions and tell you the truth: it is raining outside.

The rain has subsided but has left the air damp, damp and solid, and even from the massive, air-conditioned indoors of this monmouth building can I feel the moisture. I am steeling time, as always, and as I wait for Cindy's niece (my cousin?) to finish browsing I am writing. The informational, omnipresent windows remind me continually that today has been an overcast, gray day, and that it has treated me well. Work at mimi's was pleasant and uplifting due to my discovery of the fair amount of money I'll be making. The work was fine and I have the evening off, during which Bryan and I have plans to visit the cinema, and this seemingly dark day has been remarkably happy. This stormy weather and the silly complaints it has inspired please me quite a bit, and in this rusted city a murky sky is appropriate in the most indescribable of ways. The city is fresh and ready to meet me, ready to provoke my curiosity and occupy a manic mind. This mood will cling to me for a day or two and sit atop my shoulder, accompany my exploits and my observation, even though my contentment lies only in the remembrance of recent rain.