It’s Raining on Greenwich Village

It’s 10 am and the only places awake are coffee shops and nail salons. Designer clothes are stuck in jail until girls with dissatisfied faces open shop. A group of tourists crowds around a short, aggressive guide who shouts interesting facts about a nondescript stoop. Huddled together, the umbrellas are squished in clashing angles. Water pours through.

There’s some activity in the periphery of the blob. A covered mid-size person pokes at another covered mid-size person. One of them has a waist.

But now I’m soaked, so I’m going home.

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