Some nights the clouds release more water than they should to drip down the sides of my umbrella. The rain that pushes up from the ground swirls around my heels and wets the hems of my jeans. I make a mental note get them cleaned later. I don’t want to be reminded of the streets I’m walking down at 4 am. The city never sleeps, and neither do I. Work will be rough but this night, it never happened. In the morning I will scrub it from my skin until it’s burning and irritated. And if someone in the office dare point out “You’ve got a bit of red on your hand there,” I will smile surreptitiously, thumb it away and say, “Just a scrape.”
*gloomy*