Rain Is a Survey Answer
Belonging does not always fit the box. Sometimes it is weather on the west side.
A fictional narrative within Callizto Dark Symphony.
Ivo stood under the cheap door’s overhang.
The survey had bounced: invalid response.
He sent RAIN again.
Saff, passing on her way to wherever standing-room people sleep, said, “They wanted a number.”
“They got weather.”
She stood with him until the tram, which was not a ticket and was therefore a good interval.
The aisle, inside, kept being an aisle without them.
That was belonging too.