“Yesterday’s Rain” by Andrew Bloom (MoonGoat) The man trotting down Main Street was old, but not haggard and grumpy as unfairly associated. He was well known by the townsfolk, and respected, and he was appreciated for doing everything he could to make the town perfect. The day was still wet and cloudy from yesterday’s rain and the pitted sidewalks were slick with dark, oily water. The old man stopped walking at the facade of the Sam and Puddle Market and paused to buy some fruit from the assistant. The assistant knew the old man well and lived for the days when the kind old man, with his shock of white hair and his crooked smile, came to buy fruit, the first of his regular errands. He rested his Maplewood cane against the bricked wall and rustled in his pockets for some elusive coinage. A black car honked impatiently at a slow van and this startled the old man. He slipped in the famous puddle outside the door that gave the market its namesake. The old man stumbled backwards and the people gasped and gathered. The old man felt unscathed and pushed himself up, while the townsfolk gawked at the spot where he had fallen in a horror that disturbed. Worried mothers covered their young children’s eyes to block out the dreadful sight. The old man stood up and navigated out of the mob that had formed; he was embarrassed and did not wish to stay at the scene any longer. That was one of his problems with society, that odd symbols such as puddles, would remain on the sidewalk even if posing a danger to those like him. The peculiar crowd remained speechless at the puddle as he eagerly continued on his errands, turning the corner and moving out of sight. As he moved slowly to his friend’s apartment on the other side of town, he thought of perplexing things. The man thought about death, and he was not at all surprised at himself for pondering such a disturbing thing. Death came up in his thoughts often. He was a smart old man, though, and he knew, from Einstein himself, that death only lasts so long. His long gone wife, she would be back, as would everyone. When the universe contracts and expands again, he knew, everything would be the same, exactly as he saw it in front of him. He had lived before, and he would live again, and he knew this very well and comfortably. This was why he was so liked by the townspeople. He knew that whatever mistakes he made, he would have to live through the next time around, and so he strove to make Brooklyn the best place it could be. The man walked past the church, where the Father was lighting a candle for someone dead. I must discover who has passed later the old man thought. The man watched through the colored window for a moment considering, Why do they make such a fuss about it? The deceased would never have an opportunity to view the beautiful memorials made for them, and the whole thing suggests ghost stories and other hocus-pocus and the like . The old man never was very religious. That’s because religion is based on fear, making all of it unreal to me he mused. But it is all very real for everyone else and I shall always respect that. The old man continued on past the church. A young man on a bicycle wheeled by slowly and the old man stepped against the brick wall to make room. Afterwards, he groped for his cane and found it wasn’t there. He thought back to his fall and remembered his Maplewood cane leaning against the wall. The old man hurried to get back before some kid put somebody’s eye out. After a minute of backtracking, the old man turned the corner into a symphony of red and blue lights; an ambulance was hastily parked against the sidewalk with a covered body on a stretcher sitting unattended at the side of the ambulance; the doctors were talking to the mob of townsfolk and lawyers at the scene. The old man picked up his untouched cane and sidled to the stretcher, curious to whoever lay under the sheet. The old man peeked under the sheet and collapsed to the ground, dead.