Crimson staff writer
Sally K. Scopa
The mist accumulated in your hair so that when you went to swipe it back, I got the droplets in my face. We were walking, but with the water down our noses it felt like swimming, like we were doing laps. You were a faster swimmer than I was.
You could smell the rain from here, the water on the window, people going by in heavy coats and windbreakers and inside-out umbrellas. You said wouldn’t it be a great idea to invent one that could be blown inside-out and still work. I said that was your million-dollar idea. You put your feet up on the table and said, billions.