The rain streaming down,

Washing the dirt and dust off the windows,

Pelting down in a gentle rhythm,

Lulling the little boy to sleep.

His brother,

Eighteen years of age,

Sighs and peers gloomily into the fog.

He can’t see a foot in front of him,

Not in this weather.

The fog seems to stretch out for miles, the rain provides a thin layer of protection.

There’s a car in front of them,

One behind them,

But no one can see that.

Everyone driving is moving an inch forward, slowly.

They have the whole space in front of them to drive, but no one is willing.

No one can see.

In a maze of rain,

In a storm of showers,

It takes an hour to drive several yards.

In reality,

If the storm let up,

It would take a few minutes.