A weird little story I wrote when I decided I wanted to write something symmetric. This one had a totally different kind of origin from "The Mad Scientist": here, I just had the basic idea I wanted to work with, then started writing. Some of this was based on a trip up to New York with some fellow Penn Staters to see "Les Miserables" on Broadway. That day had the full range of weather, and convinced me that the common saying is true: it's a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.
     I suppose it isn't really SciFi, but this seems as good a place for it as any.

Transient Response

     I love the rain.

     When it's like this, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. Find a spot under an overhang over a grate. The smell's strong, but not bad with the rain, scrubbing the air clean. You'd think I'd have gotten used to it after all this time.
     Time.
     Time for breakfast. Stomach starting to growl. No money, though. I'll go down to that nice plaza a few blocks from here. Last time, someone left behind most of a doughnut. That's what I need. Pure sugar. Pure energy.
     Can anything be pure anymore? Even the air's dirty. Unclean. Even in rain like today the air still coats the lungs with a sticky blackness. The rain isn't pure either. It just cleans the air because it's not as dirty. There certainly aren't any pure people left. Even kids kill.
     The people... more and more passing by. It's time I got up and followed them before one steps on me. Just walk. No puddles on the sidewalk now, just a clean glaze. This rain cleans the walk. It feels good on my face. It cleans that too. I'm certainly not clean or pure. I'm dirtier than the air, dirtier than the water, dirtier than the scum...
     No! Just keep walking. Head down. Purposeful. Strong. Turn right here. Get away from that flow of people. This feels more right. I'm going away from the plaza, from food; but I can't turn around. Where am I going? Something will turn up.
     Turn left. There. Beautiful view. Every street in this damned city looks beautiful. Buildings so huge, towering on both sides. But now letting some light through, even through the clouds, the mist. Have I been here before? Can't remember. Doesn't matter. Just walk. Enjoy the view. Looking above people's heads works just as well as looking below.
     Down there -- that's a nice coffee shop. Business men, tourists. Ask for some change, fill my belly. It'll work. I'll be happy. But I'll have to talk. I hate my voice. There! No time to think. Perfect! coming out of the coffee shop. "Excuse me... could you spare me some change?" Don't look. Just take. Just enough in my hand for a coffee. I never have gotten used to it. Messes with my stomach. Better hang close to the restaurant streets today. But try for smaller places, deli's. Less of the city smell in their bathrooms.
     Good. I got my coffee and I paid. Was I ever here before? Good memory from a while back? Doesn't matter. At least I'll get some sugar. Pour it in, stir it up. Beautiful little swirl when I stir, or when I blow on it. This I can understand. "Tempest in a teapot." Where did I hear that? Doesn't matter. Just drink.
     Done. Just go, just walk. Don't say anything. There's the park. I must have been here before. Head down there. It shouldn't be busy in this weather. Another smell. Different, but still bad. Even in weather like this, the horses with carriages waiting to be drawn stand here alone but ready. They're dirty too. But the horses, you I can look at. Of course, you have blinders on. And I can tell you need. You need to be petted, to be cleaned. Taking care of that fur takes work, and love. But no, that would just make you remember how much you're missing, how much you'd lost. Besides, people would stare.
     Look at the greenery. Only in a city like this could there be so much grass, such great trees, so many little birds, and still have it be purely of the city, consumed by the city. Still, it's nice.
     There's a nice bench. A favorite. But so wet! Still, I have to sit down. My feet hurt again. And water's starting to soak through my socks. Rain's starting to pick up. I'm glad my coat has a hood. Feels warm, steamy, like a tent or a sleeping bag. Fewer birds fluttering around in this rain. They've been consumed by the city too: so many look sick. They die fast anyway. So much death goes on behind the scenes. The rats, the pigeons, the cockroaches. Some may be on top for a while. Like you, the spider. Why are you spinning your web in the rain? A few steps forward, then get pelted back. Amazing, though. You've got slow and steady progress going on. Amazing, you're nearly done. But what's the point? It won't win you any food today, and you'll probably be dead within the week.
     It's cold. I'm drenched. It's darker. Did I fall asleep? I didn't even enjoy it. Gotta move. Dry out my coat using body heat before finding a spot tonight. It's pouring. I can't see, I can't hear much but the rain. Get up. Just walk. All you need to see are the puddles in the street.
     Turn left. It's getting dark fast. The glare from the road keeps me from seeing too far, can't tell if the good spots are full until I'm on top of them. Have to keep walking. Sirens. More death. The sounds let the world know, but nobody seems to care. Hurry up... damn! That puddle's too big to avoid. But I can't turn back. Just keep going. My feet are going to pay for that one.
     All the good spots are gone, now I've got to grab what I can find. But still too many people walking around. They'll stare. Still, this place is as good as any I'll find now. So wet, so cold. I hope I don't get sick. I can't afford that -- I've got to keep walking. Keep walking. Keep your head down. Never make eye contact.
     Eyes. I can't see. There's a way I used to see but I can't anymore.

     I hate the rain.