Drip... drop... drip... drop... The rain tumbles down from the clouds, free-wheeling through the air, racing toward the grey and black rooftops below, only to pool together and eventually overflow their boundaries, sluggishly spilling over the edge of the roof, drip-drop, drip-drop, onto the nose of the boy standing below. When he sniffs, he inhales some of the rain, which makes him choke a little and gag at the tiny dissolved filth found in the ever-tainted water. The rain drips into his hair and from there to his over-sized grey sweatshirt with the ripped cuffs, soaking the garment thoroughly.

He sneezes to clear his head, then returns his bright blue eyes to the ragged people bustling in the street. He wonders for a moment if they are aware of his presence, but soon concludes that they are not, as they aren't even aware of each other.

Jamming his hands into the damp pockets of his jeans, the boy moves out onto the street and starts walking. He has been here many times before, but everytime it is a little different - the buildings, the faces, the stores and cafés all change, if only slightly. The roads stay the same, however, so he follows them. He has stopped thinking of the changes long ago and only raises an eyebrow at the more extreme ones; a vegetable stand where a bookstore once stood or an abandoned factory where there used to be a thriving hotel. Odd as they are, they do not surprise him.

Coming up to a corner, he remembers what happened last time. Here is the old woman again with the same amount of groceries, looking through that same course cloth purse. In a moment a young man with black hair, shorter than himself, will round that same corner and bump into her, snatching her purse as it falls slowly to the wet sidewalk. The boy tries to recall what he did last time... Oh, that's right, he talked to the old woman. She had tried to get him to come home with her, but he had declined - perhaps next time. This time, he wanted to talk to the young man.

After a few seconds which seem to take no time, the short young man rounds the corner. In the split second it would take him to bump into the old woman, the bright-eyed boy steps between them. Under normal circumstances he would have been knocked into the woman, but here, in the city, he was unusually solid, more resistant. The short young man looks up at him, a scowl on his face as the old woman steps out onto the street and away; she has taken no notice of them.

"I'm terribly sorry," says the boy. "I didn't see you there."

The face of the young man softens; he is perhaps a few years older, but it is difficult to discern. "Well, watch where you're going next time," he says and pushes past.

The boy watches him go, knowing that he's missed his chance. The young man has probably already forgotten about him. So it goes here. He turns around and can suddenly see a good portion of the city, though his body has not moved from where it was. For a brief instant - oh, so very brief - he feels a desperateness in his heart and a cry rises to his lips - lips that were tightly sealed against it.

Wasn't there anyone in this city aware of anything beyond their own lives? Didn't anybody know they could come and go anywhere for any reason whenever they wanted? Didn't they want? Didn't they feel? Didn't they care? Wasn't there anyone else who knew they could leave...?

Drip-drop, drip-drop... No, of course not. The rain continued to fall.

The End