The sky is a subdued blend of pink and grey. Thunder rolls in the distance and every time I move my head, I see a flash of lightning that blinked and vanished like the flash of a camera. It takes a snapshot of a seemingly innocuous moment; it's early and no one thinks at this hour, unless they've been up all night. A night's worth of unresolved issues are piling up, having been drowned momentarily in booze and fleeting frivolity, designed to distract from said issues, if even temporarily. I stand outside and smoke a cigarette and enjoy the warm weather and the sights, sounds, and smells of the incoming storm. There is nothing special about this day, aside from being three days from the one year anniversary of my graduation from Mohawk. This won't be special until the time my education pays for itself, for which I am not holding my breath in this day and age. I am merely pleased to see the sun rise today. And thunderstorms always make me happy.
I hear rain on the roof. Thunderstorms let out what they've been holding in without restraint. Some people would do well to follow that example.