More than anything she wished for rain. Ajita pressed her face to her window each morning and imagined a storm that would come to chase the swollen sun from a perpetually summer sky. Sitting in her ex’s tshirt, she picked at the black grime that accumulates in the ridges of windows and watched the sidewalk.
It was not the dwindling reservoirs or the wistful way the people spoke of the pitiful creeks as they wound through scrub covered canyons that fed this wish. Ajita hungered for a rain that would come and clean this dry baked city.
The water would rush over the sparkling sidewalks and turn them dull and grey and free from the gasoline piss smell that wafted upwards on hairdryer winds. Instead the ozone would wrinkle people’s noses while their gutterless streets churned. The day and night constant rev of engines would still beneath the slosh of makeshift rivers. This desert would flood.
The people with their golden skin and matte faces would shudder from the sky as it emptied onto them. This bloated city would quiet as they retreated from its downpour, put off but also relieved as the rain washed away the paint that covered them and banished them towards their homes.
Ajita closed her eyes, imagining the whisper of rain on the other side of the glass.