The sky looked like an evil ceremony was underway, a black mass of sorts.
The unintelligible noises of the street sounded like a desecrated eucharist, an ever widening schism separating every inhabitant of this godforsaken town.
People rushed around before the rain started falling with the same sense of urgency they exercise without the threatening clouds. That same sense of urgency that makes their insults sound like cries of help justified by the apocalyptic circumstances they are enduring.
Even women elegantly dressed know that when the rain comes their hair, shoes or clothes will mean nothing if they can't get home safely. Glamour is stamped by survival instincts. Humiliation becomes resourcefulness and even heroism. You learn to be more aggressive, especially knowing that this bad weather, which has lingered for decades now, is not subsiding anytime soon.
This was my entry to 
