Joanne sat on the hill, watching the rain on its kamikaze mission, brutalizing the plastic window of her tent. Fat drops landed heavily, reminding her of flies hitting a windscreen when the car is going eighty. It occurs to her that a window in a tent is designed only for depressing days – why else would you be inside looking out?
A noise behind her, warm and happy. Then Joanna remembers there might be another reason to be aware of the rain. She turns and smiles, relieved, and crawls back under the covers and into his arms.
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