'summer rain

It is a warm summer night. It is raining. The drops feel cold against my skin covered in a blue thin shirt. I am walking, keeping to the left side of the curb. I have never figured out if people should walk on the left side, mirroring how they drive around here, or it applies only to cars. Nevertheless, I do not make a big fuss about it as the street is a ghost town. There is only me, and the rain. Something in the evening is pulling me. I cannot quite explain it. The rain is getting harder, and my blue shirt is slowly becoming a dark blue shirt. I do not feel like going home. There is nothing there for me, I know it way too well. I suppose it is a trick of mind but I feel how that place cages me, and I want everything else but to be caged right now. I would rather get lost in this summer storm, in this secretive city. But, for some reason, I still continue heading home. I finally arrive at the the bus stop. My shoulders are wet, but I do not mind. I am not quite my usual self. I lost the I. I want to observe, to look, and to listen, things which are beyond my control. Be in ave with the stubborn, ruthless life. No one really cares. I am convinced that caring today, in this society, is something deformed and wicked. People are sitting at the small red bench. Couple of Arab guys. After exchanging glances, they stand up, and jump on the bus which just arrived. Its passing-by splashes the water, creating a big wave, but it only reaches the top of my wet shoes. I am alone again. The rain is getting stronger. I realize that I do not want to be sitting. My body wants to move. So I stand up, glance to my right, searching for the bus, which is not there. Heading for the next bus stop, I leave the cover of the little plastic roof. By now I am convinced that I enjoy moving. Perfection of physics. It gives me a sensation of lightness and transparency. An individual, who is not really an individual. I am the world around me, and it is I. I am conscious of it, and I enjoy every look, smell, touch and feeling of it, but I am still detached. I hate feeling heavy, I notice. The wind somehow changes the direction. Now the rain is heading straight to my face. The truth is, I do not mind it, not at all. I slow down my pace as I cannot see properly. It enables me to feel the drops tapping against my skin, my cold toes snuck into the wet shoes and the sound of occasional car passing by, more intensely. As I continue walking down, I notice that once again I am alone. By the light from the side posts, I notice how hard is the rain. It reminds me of snow for split of second. It flashes the eternity I have spent in the snow. It now seems like another life. I notice the bus stop further down the street, even though I can barely see. As if someone is splashing a water gun in my face, purification, I think. Not to say that I felt dirty in any way, be it metaphor or not. I am wet. The shirt one size above mine, is now stuck to my body, perfectly depicting the lines of my average shape, both the un and attractive aspects. Unaware, I grab for my phone, now completely wet, checking for a missed call, a message, an effort of reaching me. The same old display. But I am used to it. I put the phone back in the pocket, and continue walking....