There’s a river running riot round the streets, galloping through gutters and shimmying down steps. Puddle reflections lend colour to grey pavement. The drops beat down like a rhythm, and maybe there’s a song below it, if you take the time to hear.
You blink away raindrops and watch people duck their heads, grasp for umbrellas. Their hair is frizzing up just before a meeting, they’ve just had it dyed, their boss will never forgive them…
And fair enough. But you’ve a little time, so you wait.
The song is there. It’s just at the edge of your hearing.