Writing In The Rain

I have a sense of invulnerability. I think you always get it; that sense that nothing can touch or harm you because despite the fact that you are a human being with a brain that can conceive of things it cannot and will never see or touch, there is something magical about shelter, something thrilling about being comfortable and dry mere inches away from falling rain. It is the same exaggerated thrill of comfort which shivers through you when you are in bed listening to the elements beating against the roof.

At the moment I am perched on a bar stool next to the open door of an Internet tea shop in Astoria - Freeze Peach, and the rain is hammering down outside. It has just gotten dark, and the sidewalk outside is orange lit and jumping with raindrops. A shuttered halal butchers flies banners for the state lottery on the opposite corner, and taxis pause impatiently next to a red brick church at the lights.

I really like it here. I think we'll be back. Krissa is sitting at a table behind me, researching a story idea. We've spent the last hour or so sitting on a sofa, reading, drinking iced tea, and discussing how great this place is. Then the rain started, and we decided to stay for the duration. It's great how we can wander off for a stroll around our neighbourhood and find a shop like this.

In New York City there's a surprise around every corner.
Five boroughs of grid system.
That's a lot of corners.