Tuesday, October 26, 2004

Man versus nature in a fight to the porch

Two days ago it rained. (Hold the freakin’ front page!). I was walking home from the bus stop with about 150 metres to gone when it began to spot.

Pit-pat. The rain said.

Tap-tap. My feet said.

And from that moment, a contest sprang up between my feet and the cosmos as a whole. Would the rain fall fast enough to force me to break my gentle rhythmic stride and start running? Or would my shoes retain their honest working man’s dignity and casually snub any meagre increase in precipitation?

Would the pit-pat become a plop-plop forcing my tap-tap to become a thump-thump (to express the problem musically)?

It was a lot like duelling banjos (but with out the river rafting and the anal rape). I met the sky’s firm accelerando pit-pit-pat with a delightful allegro non troppo tap-tip-tap.

And gradually the rain quickened, forcing my feet to march in time with the new beat, but not yet quite forcing me to quit the race and begin the sprint.

So what happened? Who won? Me or God?

Actually I can’t remember. Who even gives a shit?

I got a bit wet though.

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