Thunder rolls. Out to the patio, dragging inside that which ought not be wet, then covering that which shall not come inside (namely the carpet shampoo machine that stinks of catpiss), then back inside.

Raindrops send up little ash clouds from the table where the small grill had sat. Big, fat raindrops. Water runs from the eaves, splashes on the box of kitchen somethings...probably plastics, maybe glass, all hidden for a year within the box.

The smell as I open the door...wet concrete and steaming asphalt, rain, rain, rain....

Rumble...rumble....

And it stops.

Warm, damp concrete under bare feet....