On my way home, it starts raining. I drift in the rain with a gentle charming
spring-like breeze. It is really queer in such a dark winter night of Boston.
The glassy surface of Charles river vibrating by the touch of rain drops
accompanied with mist and a northeastern wind. The variegated city lights play
tricks as shadows of skyscrapers dancing in river. The rain drops obscure my
glasses that blurs my version in a way not too much dissimilar from being
drunk. I tread through the path homeward
