I always loved walking in the rain. It gave me some small sense of comfort that was always so hard to find. Nevertheless, that comfort I found in downpours from the heavens had nearly killed me a time or two, but I'm never one to learn my lesson very quickly. Nearing death was always the thing to convince me that something was dangerous, but I ignored that sometimes too. That day, the rain was falling faster and angrier than I'd ever seen, and to save myself from another bout with pneumonia, I stopped under the awning of some little corner store.

Okay, so I had an ulterior motive--- who doesn't? My friend and partner in crime, Greyson "Snake Eyes" Marconi was to meet me there and it would be off to the crap games for us. Greyson was one fella you didn't want to mess with. He had a temper, but he was also a very fun-loving guy if you were on his good side. Though everyone thinks it's true, his eyes do not resemble a snakes, so that is NOT where his nickname came frome. Marconi had the habit of playing with loaded dice, but he hardly ever rolled them himself. He always let his opponent have the first roll and that's where the fun would start. His dice were loaded to roll snake eyes one out of every five rolls, save a few foul-ups on probability's part. Oh, how many times we've won like that. And the best thing is-- Nobody ever suspects it. Who would rig their dice to lose? It just didn't make sense.

But we're not out to make sense, we're out to make money and so I stood under that awning, chilled to the bone waiting for him. My clothes drooped from my body, soaking wet and three sizes too big. They were Greyson's. Mine had been torn to hell and back the week before when he'd gotten involved in a barroom brawl- damn me for trying to save his neck. The only dress I'd ever owned was that one he bought for me in Detroit and it looked like a piece of that holey cheese, swiss, I think. Now, I donned his tent of a brown button-down shirt and his sails he called pants. I'd let my hair loose and now it was twined and twisted and hung about my face and shoulders like ropes. I looked like a drowned rat.

I stood waiting, wanting a cigarette but having none, I scanned the street for Marconi. I was caught off guard by a sudden force that was combined with bread and books. A girl in complete black knocked into me, sending her groceries tumbling. No words were exchanged, and I gave her a glare, but didn't say anything. I helped her pick up the food which, under normal circumstances, I never would have done, but the last thing I needed was some kid hanging around when Marconi showed up, he'd pop a blood vessel. But that's just they way he is.

ch.3