I'm next to this gentleman. He has a suit on, it's well fitted, showcasing a stocky, but not overweight form. His jacket is a grey herringbone, and his pants are charcoal that matches some of the detailing on the jacket. He has on a lavender shirt, and a pink and purple tie. The tie is undone. His hair has long since abandoned him, but he carries the baldness well. I'd place him anywhere between the late 50s and late 60s. Aside from being particularly fashionable, he would not have stood out to me, if it weren't for the rain.
It's raining. It's one of those consistent sorts of downpours. I feel like it's pacing itself. This isn't a drizzle that might blow over, or a storm that will wear itself out in a burst, but a solid few hours’ worths of rain. This rain is here and isn't concerned with being anywhere else in a hurry.
Our gentleman is loading things into his car from a store with the aid of a few underlings in raincoats. His helpers scurry back and forth, shielding cardboard boxes, stowing them in the car and running back for the next. The gentleman does not scurry. He matches the rain at a steady determined pace. His jacket is noticeably wet at the shoulders, his pants are dripping at the ankles, and water streams down his bare head, presumably into his face and down the back of his shirt. All of this he ignores, casually placing a box into his car and stepping out of the way of the mad rush of the rain coated loaders.
Maybe he doesn't ignore it though. Maybe he takes it all in. This guy isn't ancient, but he has been around. He knows things, maybe one of those things is that the rain is just the rain and that's ok. His jacket will dry off, his head too. Sometimes things are wet, then eventually they aren't.
His (non)reaction to the downpour is strangely cool to me. I want to be more like this guy. I want to be zen and practical all at once. I want to wander through the worlds shrugging off the fury of nature with calm indifference. I want to be one with existence, and I want my super enlightened nature to be evident to people staring at me as I do something mundane as load my car with a cardboard box.
Although maybe he just has hip problems, and can't really rush.
It's raining. It's one of those consistent sorts of downpours. I feel like it's pacing itself. This isn't a drizzle that might blow over, or a storm that will wear itself out in a burst, but a solid few hours’ worths of rain. This rain is here and isn't concerned with being anywhere else in a hurry.
Our gentleman is loading things into his car from a store with the aid of a few underlings in raincoats. His helpers scurry back and forth, shielding cardboard boxes, stowing them in the car and running back for the next. The gentleman does not scurry. He matches the rain at a steady determined pace. His jacket is noticeably wet at the shoulders, his pants are dripping at the ankles, and water streams down his bare head, presumably into his face and down the back of his shirt. All of this he ignores, casually placing a box into his car and stepping out of the way of the mad rush of the rain coated loaders.
Maybe he doesn't ignore it though. Maybe he takes it all in. This guy isn't ancient, but he has been around. He knows things, maybe one of those things is that the rain is just the rain and that's ok. His jacket will dry off, his head too. Sometimes things are wet, then eventually they aren't.
His (non)reaction to the downpour is strangely cool to me. I want to be more like this guy. I want to be zen and practical all at once. I want to wander through the worlds shrugging off the fury of nature with calm indifference. I want to be one with existence, and I want my super enlightened nature to be evident to people staring at me as I do something mundane as load my car with a cardboard box.
Although maybe he just has hip problems, and can't really rush.
I like this
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