It was pouring like mad. Everything - wet: the trees, the cobblestones, the city... Outside, everything alive ran under a roof. And only they stood in the rain. Carried away. Restless. Two hot rays in the wet orb. In all probability homeless, but sheltered in their love. A black old man spread his umbrella, I passed them, I looked at them with blood. And I sighed secretly: "Ah, until yesterday I was also rained like this..." Having been dry upstairs in my room, I shot them through the rain windows: two wet birds were chasing the tram, homeless, but having infinity... And from my pupils are raining.
It's raining outside, it's raining, the gutters are gurgling and making noise and the gutter are splashing on the tiles with a juicy sound around the city. How cheerful the rain is when you know: there is a house and an unlocked door where you can return.
