But this is good rain. It comes down not in torrents or in sheets that pour down so powerfully that they’ll lash about the avenues like sails flailing in stormy weather. Tonight the rain feels so meek and muted that brushing it away with a hand might make it stop. It lacks conviction, has lost its vigor. Don’t bother with umbrellas, it seems to say. I’m about to stop anyway, my heart’s not in it tonight.
