I was only a block from work when the clouds exploded. Even though I ran and jumped until I made the nearest doorway, the rain had become a part of me. Water dripped from my hair, crawled along my neck, and pushed its way through my clothes.
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Water splashed everywhere. The man with the empty bag shook his head. “I knew it. Didn’t I tell you if you brought that beer out here, the rains would start again?” he said, looking straight at me.
“I didn’t yell at you,” said the other man. “I only said I knew you’d bring the rain on again if you carried out your beer. Bringing out a fresh-opened can of beer on a cloudy day is just asking for rain.”
“I got to get me another woman. I got to get me another son.”
“What about my son? What about him?” the man with the beer asked me.
“You’re too late,” said the other. “You started the rain by bringing the can out.”
