Thursday, June 4, 2020

It starts to rain as I’m walking home. At first I think something like an air conditioner is dripping on me, but it continues as i walk down the street. If a drone large enough to carry an air conditioner were following me, I probably would hear it. Other people look up and around, trying to figure out what’s happening. It doesn’t rain here in June. Some small cloud may have been blown far off course. The rain gives up quickly. In the warmth of summer, the cloud didn’t have a chance. I’m surprised at how sad I feel for the cloud, considering that it probably didn’t exist. Outside the Heart of the City and across the street from it, dueling buskers play unrelated music. Their sounds blend and clash as I approach them, but each is loud enough that when I get close to one, I can’t hear the other. The accordionist is playing an old-time Italian tune. The violinist has paused to smoke. His boombox is playing what sounds like a karaoke version of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” As I pass him, he picks up his violin and plays along. I have guessed correctly. When I get home, I’m surprised to see a large sofa on our lawn. The cats who usually lie on our yard’s stone path are stretched out on it, lounging in luxury. My landlady texts me to ask if I would want it. I’m tempted, but it wouldn’t work in this small apartment. I text back my thanks, but have to decline.