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Full steam ahead 0

Dear Bradshaw,

            Nearing the end of my last lesson, it started pouring outside. Pouring is an understatement. It was coming down as if all the water in all the world was raining on Rome. Thunder, lightning, the whole shebang. It was a private lesson so I was at my student’s apartment and when he asked if I wanted to stay there until the rain stopped, I declined the offer. A mistake? Maybe.

            Leaving the building, I headed down an alley toward the main avenue as thunder roared and rain gushed down. I weaved between puddles for fifty feet and then stopped before a substantial body of water. I stood there, scanning the area, and found only one option = full steam ahead. One step, two, and then I was up to my knees. New pants, nice shoes, but none of that mattered now. I had to get home. I waded toward the curb and then, turning onto the main street, I saw a bus stopped, its wheels submerged, and a line of cars behind, honking their horns. A guy in the middle of the street was blocking their route. He was up to his waist in water, standing next to his scooter and struggling to push it through the pond.

            The wind was blowing so haphazardly that the rain came from every direction, making my umbrella as useful as a Tootsie Roll wrapper as I started down the sidewalk. Water was overflowing the gutters and cars sprayed me as they passed. With a brick wall on my right and the street on my left there was nothing to do but take it like a merman. Meanwhile, stepping off the curb at each intersection, I had to slosh to the other side.

            Eventually, I arrived at the main square with one more street to cross. To my left there was a lake, to my right a swimming pool, and straight ahead — the way I had to go — I was facing an ocean. As it didn’t matter anymore, I stepped off the curb and then waded through the ocean. After regaining the sidewalk on the far side, I raced down the block toward the bus depot and found my bus waiting.

            So that’s it then. I survived a Roman rainstorm. Not the first and not the last. I’m home now, dry, drinking wine while writing you this letter and, believe it or believe it, it’s not raining outside. Not a drop. Apparently, I soaked it all up.

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