It's me against you, rain

     I wish I had wrote this yesterday.
     I'm back to feeling guilty about not writing every day - even if I have only been writing every day for a whole three days now. I know. (What the fuck does anything have to do with Vietnam?) It really shouldn't feel like the end of the world. Probably not worth the word count. Except I told myself I would write no matter what. Even if nothing happened, something always happened. 
     And plenty happened. I might look back on the day I was sitting in the quiet darkness of the Goa Streets office. The small backup generator at the newsroom's entrance was powering something other than the lights. I retreated to my iPhone notes, writing words that would likely never see the light of day. Words that might never make it to their intended recipient. I finished before the murmur of conversation stopped. A door opened and good news followed Puji out of the darkness. Even though I could barely make out her face, I was looking at the weekly's new managing editor. Not a bad deal for a girl with no prior print experience. I was very happy for her. This was exactly what she needed. But then my own fears came out to play. Now I would have more hours, days and months to fill than previously calculated. Would those hours get filled with music? With writing and for whom? With driving around aimlessly through the Monsoon countryside on a scooter I had yet to buy? Or something else; something I hadn't figured out just yet?
     On the walk back home a light drizzle fell with hopeless abandon. It rained over the visit to the vegetable stand, the roadside chilli burgers and the celebratory bottle of Rose that spent the better part of the night in the freezer, unopened.