Hailstorm
After our Sartre session this evening, Seth and I walked up Taylor, from Post to California. And along the way got caught in what I think was the heaviest hailstorm I’ve ever seen.
It was fairly brief, lasting five minutes or less. It began very suddenly—when we first stepped outside, it wasn’t raining at all. There was a flash of lightning in the distance, then there was some thunder, and then: hail.
Hail strong enough that it set off car alarms. I was rather glad to have an umbrella at that point, and we ducked into a doorway as soon as we could. It looked crazy, thousands and thousands of white pellets plummeting from above. Seth tried to get some photos, but I’m not sure they’ll be able to capture the spectacle.
When it was over, the ground was covered in icy sludge. If you didn’t know better and had just stepped outside, you might have believed that it had snowed for an hour or so. Making your way uphill was suddenly a lot more precarious.
It began to melt quite quickly, running down the hills. By the time we reached California, it was hard to see much trace of it, although I did see traces as far as Polk and Sacramento. I’m not sure how much further around it had fallen—microclimates in action.
27 Feb 2007 at 10:55
gods dandruff can weigh heavily on the soul.
28 Feb 2007 at 10:18
The Dandruff of the Gods
A three-act play by Garret Sexton.
ACT I
Floyd sits at the bar, trying not to spill either of his two drinks on his purple lounge suit. He mutters to himself in a heavy Dublin accent as a drop of Guinness lands on the two-tone wingtips he is wearing.
FLOYD: Another one here.
The BARMAN looks at him warily. Then they’re both distracted by what sounds like hundreds of stones pelting the window.
I leave the rest as an exercise for the careful reader.