I hate this moody day; the clouds are dark, the rain is pouring down.

When the parking lot pavement gets wet, it turns to grit, and little stones get wedged into the soles of my old shoes.

Raindrops splash against my suit, most don't soak through, but the few that do, feel warm like summer dew.

A file is tucked tightly under my arm so it won't get wet, but the rain still spatters it, turning manila yellow into a putrid shade of…