I live here. From now on I will always live here. It's always raining here. They say it's always rained here and it always will. At first I couldn't stand it, but now I know how good it is for you. See, the skin on my face looks so clear now,just like all the other women here. It's not all because of the rain, though. I don't smoke anymore, because it's always raining here, and everything's damp and it makes the cigarettes taste funny. I don't drink anymore either, because it costs too much and if my boss found out he'd fire me. And so my face looks clear and I'm very white, just like the walls of my apartment. The walls of my apartment are all white too, just like at work. At first I thought I might hang some paintings on them, but then I changed my mind about going to buy them, because it's always raining. I'm not home much anyway: in the morning I go to work, from work to the cafeteria, from the cafeteria back home. I wear rain boots outside, and they're red ones too, so that I don't get sad and so that every day feels like a holiday. --Ana Kordzaia, Rain Excerpted from Fiction from Georgia by Elizabeth Heighway All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
