At this very moment, it is raining. Not hard, but subtly, all day long. Will crops, vegetables, or flowers sprout up? For this particular rain, on this very day, they are saying “yes.”
There is a little kitten outside, crying and meowing forcefully to be let it in. So it is raining cats and possibly a little dog.
I have milk because I eat cereal every day for breakfast. If I had some fish, I have no doubt that it would somehow magically enter my apartment and make its way outside my door. It’s been done before, by clever kings of cats and dogs.
Outside the window, rich people are either walking with their lovers from here to there — sometimes with a child — or they are driving from home to someplace else where people meet.
The city’s poor people are either in their subsidized apartment dwellings, or sitting in the hole of the Metro entrances under a roof. Or they are at the shelter or halfway house. They are clamoring for a safe abode.
I see all of these kinds of individuals, outside my window.