The rain begins after several sunny days; clouds once flecked like platinum bouffants in the blue sky, now dark and dreary and burdened with the weight of water. You sit on the porch swing with your feet up on the wooden railing, slowly sipping from a bottle of Lagunitas, yearning for a cigarette. You tilt the bottle back with your thumb and forefinger, catch amber IPA against your tongue and swish around your perfect teeth. The burn of hops makes you sleepy. A clap of thunder rails along the distance like a lover calling you home. You smile and sit up. Hasn't been a good thunderstorm around here in ages.