The rain has been pouring for days. The clouds grieve, releasing their tears to the earth. From the 6th floor, I imagine the ground soaking up the water, creating mud. I picture the oily puddles forming on the concrete sidewalks. Inside I am protected. Inside I am surrounded by dry stillness. A game of waiting. The rain beats down on the rooftop, tap dancing a rhythm I don’t recognize. It creates flowing beads of condensation that trickle down the immense gaping windows. I look through the portal that is my window, perched motionless above the blurred city view. In the streaks of water there are reflections of buildings, bridges, and factories. Outside I see the mammoth smokestacks tower above me, they are lifeless compared to the engorged river that races behind them. In the distance, burning red light bulbs from the gas station paint it’s price: 2.12 per gallon, cash only. Cars creep along the streets like a procession of ants. Outside the sounds of sirens scream into the gray. The train screeches as it stops to pick up it’s passengers, faceless strangers. From the television inside come football sounds, crashing helmets, crowds, voices, and whistles. His chest moves ever so gently up and down, breath entering and exiting his lungs, eyes closed. My rain boots sit patiently by the door, as if beckoning to me. Instead I stir the bubbling soup, bright colored vegetables peek up at me through the aromatic broth. Change will come with the fall, life will emerge from the rain, but inside time stops the decay of life. The sand in the hourglass suspended. A collision of states manifests an atmosphere of ambivalence, stillness and chaos, tear soaked cheeks and dry eyes, fear and acceptance, suspension and forward motion, monotony and intrigue . The bright leaves glow against the dreary backdrop of the sky signaling change. He is going to rehab.