The rain has just begun, it smells of wet asphalt.
Cars circle the lot, predatory.
Laughter dodges the raindrops and arrives with a tone of desperation. I sit silent, gazing through the spattered windshield and the parted curtain. Yellow light pours through a lone window three stories up. I see half of a doorway, half of a picture, half of a lamp. Around the car people pass in clusters and converse in bursts.