The rain is still coming down incredibly hard by the late afternoon. I sit in the bay window of the tavern, arms crossed, watching the city through the glass. Few people brave the muddy streets now, but there were many more before that seemed to feel that their business was more important than the rain.
Harbor cities often have heavy rain, being near the ocean, but the sheer amount of it without warning, and the casualness with which people react to it, indicates much more than I'd expect even then.
...I keep finding myself staring out the window, gaze drifting from the random bit of fiction I've picked up.
As if I'll see that man from the harbor standing somewhere out there.
As if I don't look, I'll find him looming over me instead.
A hand touches my shoulder, an it takes remarkable restraint not to startle.
