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Miri took the long way home. It was a cool night, threatening rain. She debated whether to hail a cab. It was chilly, but warm enough for walking. The weather in the capital often changed quickly, and a decision to walk could have turned into one she regretted.
She listened to the news in her earbuds as a drawling voice read a report.
“We’ve’ll have to expect rain tonight. But not until what after the candidates’ speeches.”
She had time.
“We ought to be grateful for a cool summer. We waitedt’all winter for the rains and the renewal’a spring. The heavens blessed us this year with renewed vigor in the aquifer, too, and if you don’t pray on that, there’s a problem with you. The Magic Index is eighty-five, pollen, high, with a little bit’a haze over the northern districts. The Half Eigh
