Yesterday was gro­cery day.

I looked out the win­dow, and it was rain­ing. “You can’t wait for the per­fect oppor­tu­nity for­ever”, I told myself, so I grabbed my toque, my hoodie, my jacket, and stepped outside.

The rain wasn’t heavy, but enough to soak through in a cou­ple minutes.

On my way to the store, I thought of putting an ad in the classifieds.

WANTED: RAIN DANCER

Looking for cheer­ful model to dance in rain for photo project.

Should be slim build. Light-brunette to blond hair, no longer than shoul­ders. Bring own clothes, short-sleeved with no logo preferred.

Will offer dig­i­tal neg­a­tives for port­fo­lio as compensation.

It was a short walk.

At the deli counter was the reg­u­lar bunch of hooli­gans, a group of unmo­ti­vated, lack­adaisi­cal guys with whom I’ve dealt many times before.

I was about to say some­thing to get their atten­tion when another young man (whom I ini­tially assumed was part of this group, with the same facial hair and the same mug), walked up to greet me.

“Barbecue chicken?”, he asked.

“Please”.

I stood there wait­ing for less than a moment before he came around the counter with some­thing in his hand.

“Wipe your glasses off with this shit”, he told me, and see­ing the beads of rain­wa­ter on my glasses, handed me a wad of paper towel. The uncouth man­ner in which he pre­sented the paper towel made his ges­ture all the more warm.

Handing me my din­ner, he said “Take it easy, bro”, and touched his fin­gers to his fore­head in a mini salute.

The rain stopped before I stepped out­side again.

And I haven’t cleaned my glasses, or stopped smil­ing since.