Downpour

I was eating gooey bars, drinking water from a snowcone cup, and listening to four old men sing a song about honey-do lists with My Michelle when this mobile called my name from a nearby vendor's kiosk. Probably the best twelve bucks I ever spent since it physically personifies my recent introduction and lifelong devotion to the principle of SOME GOOD.

I know about being drenched. I get it. Mascara all over your face, hydroplaning with one functioning windshield wiper, squeaky leaky shoes, flooding of the high places. I just also know that there is one drop of gold somewhere in every downpour.

It is easily found if looked for.