another fictional interlude:
He didn't mind slowing down so she could keep up. They were walking on an unfamiliar street: neither of them had been there before, but it was a nice neighborhood.
"How did you like it?"
"Well, I really liked it."
The rain made it difficult to really carry on a conversation and they didn't feel the need to try. There would be plenty of time for talking on the bus ride back. What had started off as a slight drizzle had, in the time they spent in the theatre, turned into a rain shower. Between the two of them, they only had a tiny umbrella; he wasn't too bothered about getting wet.
He decided that he liked the rain. He looked forward to coming out from it into the bus, and then looking out the window. There was something safe about that feeling which he eagerly anticipated. He made a mental note to mention it to her on the bus, then hopped over a puddle.
He also decided that they will be friends for a long time. He didn't tell many things to many people, but somehow he felt compelled to tell her everything.
"I hate this weather."
"Really? I kind of like it."
this is turning into a nice habit. writing this bad prose is good for quieting my mind.
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