A storm in the city brought electric skies and rain that sung upon the rooftops, that drummed on every window. The clouds were the kind of grey that would make any quarry rock proud, as if they were so pleased to echo the earth. All the grey, all that swirling water in the sky, condensation was bound to happen sooner rather than later. Cocooned within a strong black atmosphere, the clouds promising to bring the blacktop streets deepest shine, the city and storm become one entity, one work of art together.
I looked out the window. The sky was tar-black and the large clouds were moving towards me. I heard a tapping on the window and then it became a pitter-patter. People ran for cover outside and umbrellas were opened as the clouds spat out their beads of water. Puddles began plinking as
