The rain falls hard on a humdrum town

You know, honestly, the older I get the less I love The Smiths in some ways? Morrissey was such a young man and so dreadfully earnest about being bored and afraid. I still love some songs, some guitar riffs and basslines, and even some lyrics. But any town can be interesting if you decide you want it to be, you’re the one who makes the choice to be dragged down or not.

The rain is falling hard, though, and the wind is rattling the windows. We might lose power, everything might be dark when I wake up from my next nap. Or I might just stay up until it’s light again, or as light as it can be during a storm.

All I want is for the temperature to hold out until Saturday. It can snow after that if it likes, but Thursday and Friday I need to be only wet and not white.

There are scratches on my hands, small injuries I barely noticed at the time and only notice now because they itch and the one I didn’t bandage is peeling.

It was really nothing.