It rained in San Diego this past Sunday. It never rains in Southern California; I’ve been told that several times on good authority. And yet there I was, crammed into the indoor part of a bar with twenty other baseball people, watching the rain pour down and ruin perfectly good outdoor seating.
There’s a certain lazy narrative trick of picking a weird physical characteristic of the event you want to write about, then linking it back to a more conceptual state. Foreshadowing accomplished, story framed, don’t forget to tip your waiter. As I’m nothing if not a lazy writer, I considered using that same trick with the rain.