I had this dream once (in the way that you dream of things, not in the way you dream about things) that I would be able to find my own way, that I would be able to shape the world around me into something beautiful, a rogue
aesthete in my own right, doing the work that others could or would not.
...
I wait for the
thunderheads, the
static on my
skin and the smell of
ozone. I work magic in an urban
rain dance, splashing
dirty puddle water on hurried
pedestrians who crouch and dash from doorway to doorway, not realizing that they are already wet.