Waiting in the doctor's office (for 20 minutes) on the 34th floor, I 've just finished admiring the view and am deep in my book when thunder drowns out the ever-present smooth jazz in the background. It stops briefly by the time I got outside and I duck onto a train and head north. By Montrose has gotten alarmingly dark and by Western it is coming down in sheets.

I'm hoping to make it to Walgreen's, a block from the train station, to pick up my prescription. But by the time I get downstairs at the Western stop, it's raining so hard, it doesn't seem worth it. Even though I have an umbrella, I don't wanna go. I wait by the north window and watch the water sweep the empty plaza in sheets. After a while something starts dripping from the roof above me; time to move on.

On the western side of the building, everyone's waiting for the bus. Or almost everyone. A spiffily dressed woman listens as I call E., still downtown, on the cell phone. A few minutes later a silver SUV pulls up and she runs outside to it, and everyone else watches a little jealously. A sad woman in black and a couple of white-haired guys and I stand by the window and stare as various buses pass. The rain is starting to hypnotize us. In the pause between trains it gets quiet. Does it seem like it's letting up? No, not really. Nobody's going anywhere for a while.

Finally another train rumbles overhead and lets off another load of disgruntled people. This seems to break the spell and the sad woman in black decides to head outside. A minute later, I follow. We're in the city that works and I have a lemon-yellow ultra-light umbrella, and a little rain isn't going to keep me down.

Of course, I make to the pharmacy and they have to order my prescription anyway. It'll be ready tomorrow. Sigh.