Passing the Gray
Another rainy, bleak afternoon in the city. Gray sky, gray clouds, and the constant rain give the air an almost gray-blue hue, like that of a faded memory or passing dream. Gregory had just left the cafe where he spent the last 30 minutes watching water droplets inch down the big, glass window in front of the coffee shop. Simultaneously tracking individual drops, seeing them race one another to the bottom of the glass while watching their trails of water for pictures, often faces: Gregory was the imaginative type, an idealistic child meeting a weathered, stubborn old man.
