Her shoes and pant legs soaked up sheets of rain like a Brawny commercial. She ran to ward off the shivers, ran from the intrusive rain, ran to the protection of the carport - a carport that had been without something to shelter for far too long. She smoked her friend down to the filter, remaining drops clinging to her eyelashes, obscuring the grizzly afternoon sky. The senile, familiar sky. Her mascara trickled, mimicking the converging streams lazily decorating the window panes. Colin Hay played a private concert through the crackling headphones as she thought about measuring intelligence in ounces or watts. Thought about the bath she'd take and the letters left to write. Wondered how much wine was left. Wondered why things were so much simpler before an education.