Rain calls for slow days and quick footsteps. The wind calls for cautious boots on slippery pavement. Florence Lee watched the herd of the smart, young people shuffle their way through November with heads down and phones up. They all carried umbrellas.
An automatic beep coming from her wrist watch pulled her away from this trance and she straightened her suit, scraped back her hair and spilled coffee on her pencil skirt before waving goodbye to the kind barista.
A soft ring of bells graced her exit from the warm cafe and into pavement. Out came her umbrella, she brandished it like a sword. Opening it with a satisfying "swish", she marched down the long straight street down to the observatory.
The sky was grey and smelled of smoke and salt. Three planes zoomed from above her head and Florence's eyes traced the pattern they left in the sky. On the side wings bore red emblems.
The cement was made of ash and moved like plates, shifting under Florence's feet. Sheets of rain fell in heavy blocks and the clouds glared at her with angry scowls.
"The city's not happy today." She whispered to herself and a tall man with a crisp goatee turned her way. Florence kept walking.
