After the rain

Alex Lo
After the rain

One summer day I was sitting on a terrace in a bar, and suddenly it started raining.

There was no canopy, and people grabbed their glasses and ran under the roof. In a minute there were only ashtrays on the tables. Some empty, some with the remains of cigarettes. I noticed that each of them was unique, as were the people who, until a few minutes ago, had been talking carefree at the tables, and the problems they were discussing.

What were they talking about? What were they thinking about? The rain was able to make people leave in one minute, but it couldn’t wash away the traces of their uniqueness from the tables where they sat.