I heard the dreaded pit-pats followed by strange sizzles that were the noises of rain in New York. I sighed. Ducking down and dashing through the crowd, I reached safety in some little café. The tell-tale signs of rain had shown out my window that morning, but I had been hoping against hope for sun, so I'd left my umbrella at home. I was thinking that just maybe the weather would see my lack of water protection and be kind to me. Of course my efforts were futile. I was one of the many poor souls who had been driven into this café in a slightly damper state than they would wish to be. I stepped over the threshold of this small corner of the world and found a seat at a far table.

My eyes adjusted to the dim atmosphere and I noticed a counter that would serve me beverages of my choice, preferably a hot, caffeinated one beginning with "coff" and ending with "ee." Only my chair at my lonely table greeted me as a returned three dollars poorer, but with the joy only a white chocolate mocha can bring.

My eyes glanced out the window…it was still pouring, maybe even worse than before, if that's possible. It looked like I was in for a long wait. I couldn't possibly walk the many blocks to work with a swimming pool dumping on my head. I shook my fist in the general direction of the rain and God. Incoherent mumbles about causing a second flood escaped my lips, and several people turned to stare at me. Sigh. It looked like another day I was going to be late and another day my boss would yell at me. Soon I grew quite bored and set to amusing myself by building things out of the condiments at my table. The sugar packets were starting a revolution because they had been oppressed by their salt and peppershaker king and queen.

"Let them eat ketchup!" The saltshaker cried just before the ketchup bottle fell upon her, crushing her and uttering a ringing clang. A quick glare from the cashier put an end to my fun. Sitting there twiddling my thumbs got boring pretty quick, so I decided to amuse myself by observing the people around me. Of course I made up elaborate stories about them. The man in the large gray raincoat was an undercover operative for the FDA. He was waiting for his contact to bring him some evidence. There was a big scandal that the bakery down the street had some bad baklava and the deli next door was covering for them because the bakery knew the deli had some bad tuna in the back. Blackmail and intrigue, oh yes. Suppressing my giggles became quite the task.

I was just about to start on yet another life story when one more person wondered in from the rain. He dripped from head to toe. He pulled a slightly damp but essentially unharmed notebook from the safety of his jacket. His eyes searched around for an empty table and, finding none, he wondered over to me.

"Is this seat taken?"

"No. You can sit there."

He pulled out the chair opposite me and placed his notebook there to occupy it while he went up to the counter. I wondered if he left it there to warm his seat. That's just craziness; however could he think it would do that? It's just some paper. Surely there was another reason he left it there. Perhaps he had set it there to tempt me into reading some of it. Perhaps he was a beautiful writer waiting to be discovered and he realized that I too was a writer and simply wanted my opinion. It didn't occur to me that this was all complete craziness caused by the large amount of caffeine I had just consumed. My fingers twitched, and you can call me cat because I snatched the notebook and started reading.

"I had many times asked myself what the real difference between legs and arms was. Would it really make that big of a difference if they were switched? I'd never really taken my question very seriously and I certainly never intended to act on it, but one day my curiosity just got the best of me. All my medical tools were handy and there was Mr. Fluffums, my hamster, sitting there, a subject ripe for the picking…"

My eyebrow arched and I started to turn the page to continue on. Suddenly a hand snatched the book. I look up into the glaring eyes of the sopping wet owner of the notebook. He screamed at me about how it was rude to read other people's works without asking. Then he started waving his arms around and drawing a lot of attention to himself. I was getting strange looks too. Like I, through association, was psychotic as well. My hands flew to grab my things and some sugar packets to go. A few quick steps and I was outside dashing through the rain to another gruesome day of work. I'll take pouring rain and soaking clothes over a complete psycho any day.

A/N This is just a silly idea I had for a story a looong time ago. I always enjoy reading it for a good laugh.