Grit Stories

Lane Rain pattered on the aluminum roof over my head.  Arms crossed over my chest, I stared at the water pooling and rippling with tears at the edges of the dark and gutterless street.  Looked down at the beads dotting my pink toenails and wondered if raindrops were like snowflakes, every one different than every other.   I wished I was water, always changing but never broken because there was always a new form to take, a...