"Everything really does happen in Manhattan."

I knew I was in trouble. With the sky over lower Manhattan growing rapidly darker and no umbrella, all I could do was pray that the rain would hold off until I could get home.

No luck.

At ten to five -- just in time for my commute -- rain began to pour down, pushed sideways by gusts out of the west. I had to make a calculated decision: stay at work and wait the worst of the storm out or make a break for it. I went for the latter, screwing up my nerve and dashing across Broadway. Bad move. Within 30 seconds, I was soaked. I did my best to run down to Bleecker Street, but it's hard to run in wet flip-flops.

Finally gaining some cover, I found the $4 umbrella man. Though slightly annoyed to buy another umbrella when I had just recently purchased one, I took a long look at the rest of my rainy walk to the subway. Fine. Give me an umbrella, Mr. Umbrella Man. To add insult to injury, it wasn't even raining in Brooklyn when I got home. But at least I had an umbrella.

You may have won this time, Rain, but I'll get you next time . . .