Rainer

Why am I here, on Union Street? All by myself on the footpath. Under the narrow eave of a carport with cream rollerdoors. Staring at nothing.

It's raining that's why. It's raining hard. I'm waiting for someone to come and get me. I'm sad.

My hair is dripping; my scarf feels damp on the back of my neck. I'm wearing a black coat; I'm carrying a purple shopping bag. Inside the shopping bag the items are damp. I'm worried about the Weetbix in its cardboard box. The box is swelling.

In front of me is the street. Union Street. A quiet little street. Opposite me, a cream fence, and a tree. It's a small tree, with some autumn leaves, yellow, red, green, still clinging to the lower branches. The upper branches are bare.

The sky above the fence is dark grey, and the sky directly above me is white. There is a flash. And rumbling thunder. The sky's secret. The rain is easing.

To my left, a fence covered with a creeper. Orange trumpet flowers, waxy green leaves shining and wet. Quivering.