I walked in a rainstorm on Sunday, enjoying the quiet. A block from home, I found three little kids, lying in the gutter, rainwater washing over them, covering their bellies and reaching their chins.
One of them popped up. “It’s not raining!”
I pointed with the hand that wasn’t holding my umbrella, where raindrops disturbed the turrent heading to the grate. He lie back down, determined to out-last every last drop of the deluge.