(no subject)
It's still raining beautifully; this morning was especially cold and windy, dark and rainy; delightfully film noir. ("Delightfully" is hardly the word, considering puddles of drowned worms and the truck that thundered past through a puddle, spraying my legs with water. Euphoria is about the closest I think I can get to it?) Unfortunately, where I live is far too lame and suburban for the likes of Philip Marlowe and a young Orson Welles being a morally ambiguous Viennese racketeer. Instead I can just watch the overfed pigeons perched on the roof opposite my window as they squabble and push each other off.