A brave man loves the feel of nature on his face. I was just out to get a bagel.

But nature, she was sweaty. Punch drunk and ready to come. All around me I felt the sweetness of the air. It was so thick I could taste it. The pressure was low, and the wind breathed electric. Try as she might, she couldn't hold back and the clouds suddenly were ripped apart at the seams. The sky exploded into a million tiny shards. Bubbles and ice picks fell and shattered on the pavement below.

And here I was walking. I had nothing but my coat, three dollars, the thunder, and the rain. Funny that thunder, a not-so-subtle clue telling us to run or risk being washed away. But, you know, rain is only a problem when you don't want to get wet, and god help me sometimes I'm in a dancing, puddle-stomping mood. And god help us all, we're a little too dry sometimes.

So this is my raindance. Laughing and smiling and yelling at the gods. Let 'em piss on us sinners. Let them flood the world and clear it all away, because I can take it. I can cut the water and breathe the dirt. I can blow a kneecap out from under the world, and I can fuck Mother Nature like a porn star.

Light a fire on your wicker boat. One way or the other, it's all going down, so it might as well be for you.