There’s nothing that gets on my nerves more than the goddam weather.  You know, cities like this are always shown in commercials as happy, sunny towns with lots of smiley people.  You’d think they won the lottery or something.  The weatherman’s even worse.  One second he’ll say it’s windy and the next goddam second it’ll be a full on hurricane.  Anyway, it was raining.  And pretty hard, too, not those pretty raindrops you see in the movies.  These were fat droplets, the size of a desk each if you know what I mean.  Anyway, I was walking home in this weather when I heard this awful loud revving of an engine.  Not like one of those old cars that jocks rev just to impress people, it was a continuous droning that just about knocked every one of my teeth out of my mouth.  Then it ended all of a sudden, that awful grinding noise like a thousand angry wasps, not fading out, but with a short bang.  It wasn’t a clangy sounding bang, not like two pans struck together - it was more of a muffled clunk.  There I was, getting drenched through my pants - I’d left my coat in the car, but I didn’t feel like going back.  The sound came from the house right next to me.  It was a hefty fella, grey cement walls so thick you’d think it was a castle or a fortress or something.  Anyway, I didn’t hear a scream or a gasp or the footsteps of anyone hurrying to the bang, so I figured I’d better check just to make sure everything was alright.  I knocked on the door three times, not really expecting someone to answer.  I wouldn’t answer the door if some goddam person came around knocking in weather like this.  I knocked one more time, because if I barged on in and someone was home I’d have to explain myself and they’d call the police and it would turn into a hell of a mess.  Boy, was it getting cold out on the doorstep, so I took my chances and went into the house.  As soon as I walked in I knew someone old lived there.  It was just that kind of a smell, if you know what I mean.  In front of me was a kind of parlor, with peeling wallpaper with these tiny flowers the color of bubble gum.  A ratty looking couch looked like it had been through a whole lot more than just sitting - there was gigantic hole in the fabric of it.  Get your goddam furniture fixed, for Christ’s sake.  To the left was one of those old cuckoo clocks, except I was pretty sure it was broken, because the wooden bird just sorta dangled out on a spring like it was grabbing at a worm across the room.  I went into the room on my right to try to find out where that bang came from, and nearly fainted when I saw what was in it.  There was an old man lying in his bed, a huge purple bump right on the top of his bald head.  Right behind his head was a broken bed post.  He must’ve hit his goddam head on that thing.  Old people.  They never seem to know what they’re doing.  Anyway, I figured I’d better do something. Someone would think I hit him with a baseball bat or some other crummy story people make up cause they like to put on blame.  All of a sudden I happened to glance out the window, and it was morning.  I hadn’t realized just how goddam late it was.  I looked back at the old man with that big lump on his forehead.  He wasn’t waking up.  I panicked a little - was he dead?  It hit me all of a sudden, out of the blue, that that motor revving was this goddam guy snoring.  Anyway, I sure as hell didn’t want to be seen with a dead body on my hands.  I weighed my options and decided I wasn’t gonna stick around.  I hurried out of that house feeling like a goddam thief, through that musty old parlor and out the door.  The rain hadn’t stopped.