The incessant rain is getting to me a little, and if I hear one more person say that it's good for the farmers, there will be blood. I thought I was starting to show signs of aging when I noticed grey patches in my hair where there shouldn't be grey patches. Turned out it was just mildew. This is BC weather, and I mostly hate BC weather.
It does turn the city several delightful shades of green which change with the seasons. I've been through the droughts, and this is preferable to the sad and dusty hues of the dry years. The spring gravel has been more or less flushed from the gutters so, when I do get to ride my bike, I can relax a little  as it's not like riding on scattered marbles. Trust me, when you've absorbed as much subcutaneous gravel as I have, it's nice to see it go.
The other advantage to getting some rain once in a while is the cleaning of the sidewalks. I walk to work down Broadway most days and am becoming quite adept at stepping around the inevitable splashes of party vomit that blossom late at night or, more likely, early in the morning. The content, frequency, and directionality of the individual messes provide clues as to the source. I can see, for example, that the guy (and it is indubitably a guy) was moving towards 8th Street after barely making it out of the bar with his load, stopping here and there to heave.
Now, I grant you, a bit of celebratory spew is much to be preferred  to the frightening blood trails that appeared frequently along the same route in years gone by. These spoke of a different, more frightening attitude on the part of the Yo-boys who frequent the area, but still provided me with fodder for speculation on my way to work. Most specifically: What were they up to, and how did it go so wrong?
How I got here from the weather is another mystery, but some thing are just destined to remain so.

What I can't figure out is why this guy ate a CD for supper. Or perhaps this is a comment on the quality of the music. Who's to say?