He didn't go back to his car.

He simply followed next to me, doing the gentlemanly thing, I suppose. Returning the lady to her door, and all that. Peter is always such a gentleman.

    I carried my blue umbrella over my head, as he walked next to me.

I noticed that his hair was getting wet. I worried about his leather jacket. But I wasn't going to say anything, because even though we weren't saying a word, it seemed as though we were actually communicating a great deal with our silence, as though we were experiencing a simple commisery, a shared immersion into mood, a feeling far more bonding than simple laughter.

    And what's a little fallen water between old friends?

I crossed the street to where the river flowed by a park. The benches were too wet for sitting, but it was nice to stand hearing the rain tap on my umbrella, looking at the water swirled up, watching the ducks hide.