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.
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