People couldn't stop talking about the
rain
. They couldn't remember the last time it had rained this much. Not that it had rained everyday. But that it had rained every week. Was it ever like that before? Rain at least once a week? Hop Tsing thought about this as he drank some
coffee
. He drank it black, unsweetened, unlike his customers who liked the taste of
condensed milk
in their coffee. Not him. He liked that bitterness straight against his tongue.
"It's because of the crisis," his wife's voice had said.
"What is?"
"The rain. You asked earlier. Has it ever rained like this before. It never has. It's because of that
school shooting
."
Hop Tsing's wife liked to believe in such things. What was it that the
white people
called it?
superstitious
. It didn't suit him. He couldn't believe that a few kids getting gunned down inside their school could lead to rain. Rain was a physical geographical phenomenon. Not some
horoscope
mumbo jumbo. He took another sip of his coffee and looked up at the sky that was beginning to pour again.
But then again. He couldn't explain how it was raining like this. He wished that his
newspaper
would write an article about it, but so far it hadn't. He wondered if the rest of the world was affected. The one outside
Westcity
. If they were getting rain every week like this for this long shouldn't other places also be having such strange weather phenomena?
The bell tied to the restaurant door dinged lightly and a familiar smell came in.