rigning

The rain has returned. The water falling through the shaft outside the bathroom window makes a sound like someone in an adjoining apartment just finishing his shower, about to step out onto the mat as the showerhead lets the last heavy drops fall into the wet porcelain. But the last drops never come; there are always more. The water keeps falling and the imaginary bather never steps out onto the mat. He is transfixed in the final moments of the fictional shower, running his hand through his newly washed hair but never reaching for the towel.