Walking in the rain, umbrella folding against the wind, I have cold fingers. The power is out. Hesitant and uncertain, the normal signs and signals erased, cars inch into intersections. I make eye contact and cross, splashing through puddles, yellow boots glowing in the dark of the afternoon. Looking into windows, I see people sitting in cafes, eating and drinking, as if nothing has changed, though the light has turned to dusk. I slosh to the coffee shop, slide a damp dollar bill across the counter. It sticks. Laughing, she peels it off the table and puts in the drawer of the open register. The coffee isn’t quite fresh, but it’s warm. I cradle it in my palms and pass back out into the rain. Windshield wipers wave me on my way. Run, run along home, out of the rain.