It was raining. It seems like it was always raining these days. What with the movements of this air flow pattern and that air flow pattern, Chicago had been caught in the middle of a vortex. And all the moisture and condensation of the Earth seemed to dump here.

So, I waded through the puddles and small rivers forming in the streets. Cars were uncomfortably close to being a little too deep in trenches of the alleyways.

I crossed this street and that road. On my way to meet a friend, someone that I use to know. Back when the days were a little sunnier, at least in frequency. But the city has just shook of the winter chill and the ice of another seemingly never-ending weather pattern. And now it rained.

And another pattern continued to occur. She and I would meet, chat and reflect. An almost timeless interaction of the human species. Reflection, refraction of memories.

I walked and walked, ankles and boots soaking. I entered the bar. A warm place, heavenly covered with dark, heavy wood walls. A few people milling about and talking with friends. They too were avoiding weather patterns while engaging in their own patterns.

I sat down and waited. Waited for the warmer days that will never come. Waited for the never ending rain to end. Waited for a dream to happen in reality. Waiting.