You're staring at the photos on the wall as the clock ticks. The house is silent. Pete's out recording, the kids are at school, so you're alone. And you can't occupy yourself, everything in the house is already done. So you stare over the photos of the last, what, 30 years?

You and Pete at prom, Pete holding your newborn baby, wedding photos, first day of school photos, but what gets you is the digital camera print of you and Pete in these storm drain tunnels under your hometown. Your feet and pants were in the photo but not your body or head. Pete was fully in it, making a goofy face and peace signs. Oh, you remember that day.

August 11th, 1994.

Pete sat beside you, one earbud in his ear and the other in yours. He sipped on a can of Coke, staring at the wall of graffiti in front of him. His hand was on yours, but just fingers. You're still new. Isn't it divine? 15 and young. 15 and free. He looked over at you, nodding along to the hardcore in the headphones. There was a rumble of thunder outside.

"I think it's about to rain."