by Sparks In Shadow
This open-air space always perplexed him, with its tables between a certain expensive computer store and the subway station the same company had refurbished.
Their table was at the farthest edge of the fountain. She’d preferred its clear views of illuminated water and devices they couldn’t afford.
After today’s cloudburst, he imagined the table’s residual droplets as gathered into cliques, refusing to acknowledge each other. Then he considered his waterlogged skin and drenched clothes, but he didn’t want to go back to the apartment they’d shared. He’d be alone there, too.
Watching the station, he waited for more rain.