Constant, unrelenting, first rush hour of 2008 rain.
With steel resolve, I was able to leave my flat early, for it was a Friday, dress in loose clothing adequate enough to sweat in, and pedal off to work in the darkness. I had travelled approximately half a mile in about three minutes, and in that time, I had become saturated.
My shit cotton tracksuit bottoms were drenched and clinging to my thighs like a nervous child. Rainwater dripped off my cycle helmet and blinded my eyes. I gasped for breath as I stopped at the lights, applying pressure on the pedal when they turned green, and grimaced as I felt the squish of my socks as they'd sucked up all the preticipation running down my body and into my shoes.
And when I got to work, exhausted, brutalised ~ utterly, ruthlessly soaked from head to toe, my father called. He was and had been outside my flat for almost an hour, waiting to pick me up and take me to work on a whim because he had been working nearby.
And I'd cycled past him half an hour earlier, neither of us noticing the other.
Ergo: I am now drunk and chainsmoking.