It was a cold miserable morning. The weather’s ice cold winds melted into my bones, yet I hadn’t even left the house. The rain fell all night without any hint of a cozy undertone.
The city was crowded with dreamless faces and deathly stares. The shelters were shoulder to shoulder with slow moving pedestrians that were showered with heavy drops that ran down the sides of buildings.
A few drops of rains and the trains are in chaos.
I hate it. I’m not a winter person, so this is ridiculious. I had to cross the city in the blistering cold to drop off an broken camera lens. Well, not just any lens, a Canon 70-200mm. It was my favourite lens. My baby. My livelihood.
At Wynyard I push past police, army vets, and a long line of corporate stiffs who are waiting to get into some event that I couldn’t care less about. Here is a question Sydney, why is so much of this overpriced city dependent on sunny skies? I didn’t have an umbrella and I felt every drop of the miserable, dirty rain.
Soaking wet, unhappy and ready to face the music. I bring out my lens.
“I’ll test it on my camera.”
The man checks the lens. I didn’t want to force it on my camera, but he has no trouble.
“It’s a bit tight…”
I thought it was too tight. But tell me, how is it?
“It seems OK. You’re a lucky man.”
I put my renewed hope back into my bag and head back to the office. Back through the crowds of zig-zagging people. Back across the roads where the red man overstays his welcome.
An alarm is going off in a building. I wonder why they were evacuated? There was a camera crew across the road. It’s funny how they still use massive rigs.
It’s now 2:00.
I work until 5:00.
A link is sent to my messenger.
MAN STABBED IN THE BACK OF THE NECK OUTSIDE WYNYARD STATION
Right outside my office. Right when I went for a walk.
Suddenly my attitude changed. The cold is just cold. The rain is just rain.
You never know when it’s your time.
Life is precious.
And I love the rain.
Written by Randall Evans.
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