The subtle incoherent taping of distant raindrops, made individual acute experience to recede. Feelings, expressions, colors, and noises were treated like a rhythmic carousel to the rain. While there; blue tipped greens, half remembered conversations from a decade past, and the warm smell of cinnamon mulled to make a warm mold wine of experience. Pleasant, but completely out of season.
Tap, tap, Tap: The close drops crashed into awareness, moist rainlets clung to arm hair, and skin like rats trying to escape a sinking schooner. The pleasant lantern awareness of comfort broke, not unlike that same ship the rats were trying to flee. Sight narrowed, skin, white, red, straw, and a pale salmon. A question was asked. It awaits a reply! In an attempt to recover a meek, “wha?”
“You weren’t even listening to me, were you?” the warm voice ejaculated playfully.
“Yes, I was! I just… the rain is nice. that is all,” the reply was firmly assuritive.
“If you weren’t just stairing at my tits then what did I say?”
“I, uh. remember the orchestra bake sale? I was thinking of that.”