As I wait in FX line, rain started to pound, sounding like a drumbeat. I lifted my trembling umbrella to a sight of gray, non-stop slash of rain, looking like a thousand arrows shot from a neighboring kingdom. And I am transformed into a lowly peasant scavenging for bread from passersby hoping to have the strength to jump into a moving carriage that will take me from this wet misery to a summer refuge.
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