Waiting in the rain

The streetlamp shone its sickly orange glow onto the wet pavement, the light glinting off the surfaces of puddles and shimmering as the raindrops hammered down. The drainpipes gurgled, unused to the heavy load, and clumps of litter and twigs swirled down the gutters.

Jefferson stood silently, the collar of his long coat turned up against the cold, and listened to the drumming of the raindrops against his umbrella. He didn’t mind the rain. It could continue all night for all he cared; he’d been in this situation enough times to know that what the weather did or did not do made no difference to his actions.

Few cars went past at this time of night; the drivers of those that did seldom noticed the tall figure, standing motionless by the wall. Now and again pedestrians would glance in his direction as they scurried down the street, and then promptly forget him, their minds firmly on getting out of the cold and wet.

One person, however, was not likely to forget Jefferson after tonight.

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