I drive under grey skies that sit heavy on the horizon; obscuring city monoliths and industrial heartlands. Along busy roads brightened by a single sodium lamp; sadly out of synch with the dead eyed poles that line the carriageway.
Ceaseless rain runs in rivulets down the misted window pane; turning an unending trail of rear lights into fragmented gems; whilst the engine idles, and the rhythmic swish of wipers beats out the minutes.
A glimpse of colour catches my eye. Along the footpath, a man appears, idly twirling an impossibly large rainbow striped umbrella as he saunters uncaring into the downpour. He is the only thing moving, and I can't help but wonder if he really is singing in the rain.