A trio, we travel and talk. Forward with fleeting footsteps that answer back. Leather and suede announce intent against the pathways beneath accomplished fibres of fast falling rain.
The sodden severity becomes most definite through brazen white light that strikes and fades, the movement of cars passing by. We stop to configure; a grasp to sought composure beside a poled nightlight. On show for all a kindled brume so dank and teeming.
Three friends, three faces hopeless to the elements.
A wash of wringing jeans, soused shirts and seething jackets. I correct a wet collar and brace both shoulders; a shiver that follows courteous to the finest droplet that finds flesh and tickles my spine.
Four flooded fingers repair a onetime coached cowlick as rainwater streams gel downward, a wince behind eyelids as the sting sets in. In unison we declare the obvious; stating blatantly the heaviness of the downpour.
Late for the party, wet for the celebration. We carry on.
I trial to the rear; soaked, silent and satisfied. An easy soul cotton to the purposeful wanders that take us through car parks, low roads and side streets.
Unlost in an industrial maze and lead by two in front who crave liquid and leisure.
I pry openly as they flirt with the fashionable; fascinating with goals scored on the pitch and the girl goals missed off it. They audit their finances by trading tips on 'each way' and pricing the pint.
Their excited natter shrinks to background sound bites as I bow in admission to ones standing in social circles. Ambiverted and interesting in my own small way; unique and proper; flawed, but full of love; drenched but devoted.
We yield at a crossroad; still late, still unperturbed. A window nearby provides a black mirror to my reality. Self judgment is cast, all positive and proud. Wet and wandering. I look good. I feel good.
"Everything alright there Davy?"
"Couldn't be better my friend, couldn't be better."