Bob Dylan Part I

We stand on the top level of the parking deck five stories up drinking beer and watching the rain hammer the ground below us. We lean against the edge of the cement wall, looking down at the people streaming into the main gates of the arena. There's a narrow walkway down there rimmed by high cement barriers, on the other side of which is a fenced in section full of concrete footings and a couple. dumpsters.

I finish my beer and looked at him. "Think I could get it in there?" I said, pointing at the big dumpster.

He spits off the edge, and the wind carries it nearly straight down and it looks like a breaking ball, nearly hitting some innocent bystander on the ground below. He smiles. "They'd have just thought it was rain."

"Yea. Really stringy, thick, disgusting rain," I say.

I figure I'll go for it anyway, and haul back and throw the beer bottle as far as I can, figuring that between the drop off and the rain it'll need the extra velocity. Well, it doesn't, and it sails way past the dumpster and crashes to the pavement on the other side of the barriers.

"Good thing no one was walking there, huh?" I ask.

Someone on the ground looks up at the parking deck trying to see why a bottle miraculously fell from the sky.

"We should probably leave. Like, now," he says.

"Right."

I look at him as we're walking away. "How fucking awesome would it be if rained beer all the time?"

"That would be awesome."