We were sitting on the cold slab behind the wartime memorial.
It was too quiet - you could hardly even hear cars in the distance.
There was no one around - just the ever-green trees, the stones and the statues.
We were smoking our umpteenth cigarette, looking at the dirty rectangular hole in front of us, that was once, long before we were born, a fountain.
I was shouting my lungs out, but no sound could escape our lips.
Just the blue-grey smoke, reminding us to breathe.
You were going over all the telephone numbers again. There was no one left to call.
We don't like the rain - you and I.
Yet at at that moment...
We wished for rain.
For the first and last time.
The sky was clear and the sun was shining.
The day was bloody wonderful.