Walking without an umbrella

Don't read this unless you want to read sentimental lyric description of me walking in the rain. I don't have my notebook and I need to not forget some details.

I walk under a loaded sky. I just showered and now I'm out walking. Not a fast walk or a hurried walk, but the walk of someone with nowhere to go and no aim in sight. I walk just fast enough to keep the air flowing over my skin where it feels cool and I don't feel the sweating. It is just dark and the streetlights and other nightcreatures have begun to emerge from the shadows of the day. I walk on the bridge over the stymied traffic. The sky begins to leak, like when condensation that has accumulated on the outside of cold glass builds up enough mass for gravity to pull it down the side of the glass. The water begins to mix with oils and dirt on the street and tiled sidewalks of Bangkok to create a reflective slickness. I almost trip several times but I keep walking. The sky breaks and the water falls like when an egg is broken, oozing phlegmatically out until the yoke slips out and slaps down forcefully. The water begins to collect in the depressions and fissures of the streets. The force of the rain and the passing boats stir up the canal below the bridge, the turbulence releasing a stench of sewage and decadence. The water seeps between my sandals and the soles of my feet. I keep walking. The rain is picking up now. People are running, hailing cabs and bike taxis. People dash into phonebooths and under awnings if they have no umbrella. The water runs off the roofs in a curtain, blurring the view of the shelter seekers. I keep walking, and I'm wet. The water begins not simply to light to the ground or even fall but to hit with the force to rebound from the street. The water seems to weigh down the headlight beams of the passing cars. The noise of the rain is almost as loud as that of the traffic and I finally step under a sidewalk covering, dripping. A bike taxidriver pulls up, turns off his bike and joins me, with a stare at me just long enough to contain a question. He sits down and then his eyes ask again, "what are you doing out in the rain without an umbrella?" Clearly I walked for some distance without seeking shelter. I didn't want to. Why would I have been walking in the rain if I wanted shelter? I have no idea sir why I am out walking in the rain. And that, I suppose, is precisely the reason. Why? I don't know. But I'm wet. I didn't need a shower. Sometimes it rains to force people to shelter. Sometimes it rains because things need washing. Sometimes people need to walk in the rain to learn why they walked in the rain. Life is that simple occasionally. Rarely, but tonight, yes.