At some point, even the greatest misery begins to fade. Life, or what passes for life, plods on in it's own unending weary footsteps, and somehow we plod along with it, if we stay lucky.
And the drops of rain. They are delicate, at first, their splashes graceful against pavement. Soon, though, the soft patter grows into a furious storm.
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And the drops of rain. They are delicate, at first, their splashes graceful against pavement. Soon, though, the soft patter grows into a furious storm.
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