Dr. Naesley.

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Rain begins to fall from the night sky,

prompting me to pull my hood up over my head with one hand.

My other hand holds the pair of waterproof digital recording binoculars

up to my eyes.

The binoculars are fixed on the building across the street.

The top floor.

The penthouse apartment.

Far below, down on the dark, grimy streets,

rain falls on bags of trash piled at the curbs,

waiting for pickup.

It falls on the roofs of cars in the constant stop and go traffic.

It bounces off umbrellas and awnings.

It soaks the hair and the clothes of the unprepared or uninterested.

It ruins the cardboard box's thousands of down-and-out alleyway

denizens call home.

But it doesn't slow the mechanics of the city.

It doesn't relieve the need to eat, to live, and earn money.

...