I step out of work. The air is warm and smells of rain. In the distance are echoes of thunder. I walk between the low industrial buildings. A noise is building up, like a wall of rain and wind slowly approaching. It hits suddently, shaking the trees, throwing at me sand and dry leaves as sharp as paper. I have to stop myself from smiling too wide while I push back against the air.
People in the streets start to run as the drops become bigger. Bikers hasten and soon disappear. The water first flows cold down my back, then I get used to it. The brown sky still rumbles but no lighning is to be seen. I walk slowly as no one hears me singing. Cars pile up, illuminating strikes of rain along the road. They are sheltered but I am carried forward by the wind.