Coat upon coat of black laid down by the rain in the seventh hour. Downtown streets empty yet, just a few faces in the headlights shrunk down into shoulders then back into darkness. I see them and I think to myself how glad I am not to have the cold sting of raindrops on my cheeks and the chill of a humid winter breeze slicing through the fibers draping my body. I think that, but then know that it will be me one day, it has been me on others. I think about the error of being thankful for a reprieve: it's not a reprieve at all, just not my turn. I'm not in a hurry, and as is usually the case, I won't remove easily from the chamber of the climate-controlled machine. I followed the slick city streets to the water, where in the cobalt of advancing dawn, the mountains lie sleeping. I had not the heart to wake them.