A stream

The tennis courts outside the window are awash. Rain has returned as if to slap us all upside the head for thinking that late spring had come early. We were all fooled. No one listened when the stand up comics who do the weather on the Lidless Eye told us it wouldn't last. So now it spits rain and coeds are all "Like, this SO sucks." Makes me yearn for a real South Pacific squall, such that you can't see 100 feet for the rain alone. Makes me want to see these coeds running and squealing for cover as they lose their balance and stumble and drop their ipods. I often wonder if the people on the other end of the cell phones would hear a voice distorted by a strange bubbling sound.

I wonder, did anyone ever get washed into a storm drain before they started putting grids on them? Did they always put grids on them? Not entirely. I remember riding over one and the front tire of my bike going strraight down between the metal slats. That was a bad one. Nothing broken, but plenty of blood. Then some bright bulb decided to put cross bars on them, and we were in a whole new world.

Still, what would it be like to travel through the storm drain down what's left of Codornices Creek and into the Bay? In Riding Giants, they show crazed Southern California surfers riding cardboard through the Huntington Beach storm drain. It seems like it was a hell of a ride for them. But that was Huntington Beach in the early 60s. You'd probably come out of there now with a whacking good case of typhus.

Oh well. Better stick to weird fantasies for now.