Driving under the pouring rain

There are days like this. They're about silence. They're about being alone. And you're still driving. And traffic jams. And nerves. And people are honking and everyone is in a hurry. And this is also the outskirts of town. Old Quarter. You remember him when you were a kid. It's been so long and it's still the same. ... how much time has it been? It's been so long. But what about? I think it was yesterday. They still slap through the puddles, all the same shaky umbrellas. Just like before. Memory lives on flashbacks. Incredibly heavy rain, too large raindrops, gusty winds and your car's windshield wipers can't keep up with the wild. Maybe it's a good thing. So be it.

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