It's raining and I'm tired. I have an umbrella over my head and I'm standing on a sidewalk, remembering. A friend of mine once told me that memories were all worth a shit. He was a bitter bastard. He died a few years later, but not before calling me to say goodbye, days earlier. He told me everything he'd ever said was absolutely horseshit. Anthony, I told him, I knew that before your breath hit the air. He laughed and told me I should stop being a prick for once. Like I said, he died a few days later. I never took his advice.So I'm standing in the rain, knowing that before the day is gone, my socks will be soaked and I'll have to stick them in the dryer. I have some time to kill, so I think about the rain. I wonder what happened to the boy who enjoyed it. Wide eyed and silent, trying to catch raindrops on his mouth as best he could between fits of laughter. I still feel like him inside somewhere, but today I stand there with my umbrella, dreading each minute of it. For a second I contemplate putting the umbrella down, running down the street, watching the cars shoot water six feet into the air behind them. But, it's just a thought. I'm tired. It's too cold.Remember those dreams I had then? Of being a writer, a scientist, a movie director; before I knew what those things really were. Yet what did I replace them with? Dreams of happiness. Of marriage and family. Of a quiet death with no grudges or debts left behind. Those dreams seem no more possible. Not today, in the rain. I'm tired. It's too cold.The rain teases me. It quiets for seconds, then continues. I'm still on the sidewalk, waiting. Only a few more minutes, she'll be here. What will she say? It's nice to see you. You look well. The usual nonsense. I'll look pale and squalid, the same as before, but I'll mumble a reply. So do you. You haven't aged a day and so on. I'm exhausted at the thought. You see, I'm tired. It's too cold.Fucking mutt, I mutter. A dog paddles onto the sidewalk and decides he's quite comfortable next to me. I swear he smiles. He rubs against my leg. My pants are soaking wet now. Fucking mutt. I chase him off, with my umbrella, forgetting it's currently holding off water from above. By the time I get it back up, it's too late. I let the water run down my forehead onto my tongue.This would be the time to laugh, I say to myself.Sherry comes a few minutes later. Look at you. What the hell is the matter with you? Don't you know how to use a fucking umbrella? I'm sorry, I say. But I don't mean it. I start smiling, grinning, laughing. Your a fucking maniac, James. Next time you wonder why I left, James, you fucking think real hard.I will. I do.It's raining. It's too cold. But I'm not all that tired. I'm too wet to be tired. And I think I'm too happy to be wet. Now, let's see about those raindrops.