As I walk down the street I feel the soft wind brush against my neck, small drops of rain wet my hair, up in two buns. The pages of my book are speckled with dots, after being exposed to the rain my whole walk home from the train excluding those few moments where I slip by finger between the pages, close the book, and cross the street.

In those few moments I notice the world around me, dim except for the bright lights draped across all the trees. I can tell a lot about them by seeing how they walk in the rain. A tall woman in a suit runs down the street, her hairstyle ruined and mascara dripping down her face. She doesn’t have an umbrella. Three young boys and what seems to be their sister are standing on a street corner. The sister is waiting patiently on the curb with an umbrella over her head as her siblings dance in the rain, letting the water turn their bright, blonde curls to brown.

I think about the lives of these people. Does the business woman have a family at home? Is she hiding an enormous secret? Does the teenage sister have friends at school? Are her happiest times similar to this moment, watching her brothers dance in the rain? Do these boys always feel this happy? Do they want their sister to be dancing in the rain with them? Who are they all on the inside?

And then I get to the other side of the street and open up my book again.