Rain.

By the time I finish telling my favourite umbrella story, we’ve managed to hail a taxi and gotten in. I knew it was going to be a story with a happy ending, you say.

It had started to drizzle when we stepped outside the theatre. Shit! It’s started again, you said. I have an umbrella, I said. I brought it out and held it over our heads. What the hell is this umbrella, it doesn’t cover anything but our heads, you laughed. It’s called a parasol, I joked.