2002-04-30 6:18 p.m. I stood on the roof and watched the clouds roll out of the west. Off to my right, toward downtown, the commuters and the tourists were already feeling the first drops of rain. In the distance, a train was letting the world know that it was about to move on. Darker now, the clouds seemed to be coming closer. Coming down. To me. Above the factories and warehouses that hug 95, lightning split the sky. For an instant, as the first clap of thunder sounded across the city, everyone stopped. And looked up. By now, the rain had come. Just small drops, individual drops at first. But slowly and forcefully the drops became larger. And faster. And more real. Thunder again and more lightning. Again, people stopped and stared. But not for long. Over on the high, looping highways that wind into the city from over the water, traffic did not stop. Down on the street a man and a woman (his wife?) argued about "the checkbook." Somewhere, dowstairs, the phone rang. And still I watched the sky. No one else did. No one else cared. The rains had come in earnest now, and with them the wind. I could have gone inside, but I did not. I let the storm wash over me; soaking me to the bone and leaving me oddly satisfied. And here I sit. Captivated by things like weather and apathy and amazed that I didn't yell at them all. To tell them to take a moment. And look up. downtown----uptown leave me a note, fool!

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