You awoke to the sound of silence. And just like that, uneasiness dawned on you: so crisp, so tangible, even the impeding rain is an unwelcomed comfort. It's like waking up on the wrong side of the bed, or having the wrong kind of morning coffee or maybe the thought of those Prada's that could never ever really be yours.
And then you ponder at your uneasiness: on how unfortunate you are for not having anything to eat or anything to do because your whole life depended on electricity and this blackout is just pissing the shit off you; on how the rain is making things worse because the electricity people can never fix anything without getting wet and electrocuted; on how lonely your phone is; and on how goddamn expensive those Prada's are and you start blaming Bryanboy and that Muccia bitch for making them look so desirable.
And so you ponder and wallow at intervening times while the rain pours over the metro. If only it rained Prada, now that would be a welcomed comfort.