Raining

Walking through my own lonely corner of 1am Edinburgh, I’m coming up on the brain-bashing, lazy nicotine dizziness of the last cigarette I smoked fast, holding out my palms face up into the rain. The sodium orange of the streetlights makes the slick cobbles bright. The brim of my hat drips. The raindrops hit cold and hard and die wet on my skin. My mind’s a weak muscle – I can’t empty it of his face.