Now that you've accepted the fact that I'm a big, black English-speaking crow living in Japan, please allow me to tell you a fascinating story about a woman named Hiroko who struggled to stay dry on a rainy day. Hiroko had once left me half a sandwich on a park bench, perhaps unwittingly, and from then on the sight of her reminded me of delicious ham-and-cheese.
Yesterday at around dawn I had the misfortune of being perched high atop a utility pole with electric megaphones mounted on it, just as they crackled to life and broadcasted a public service announcement to the neighborhood - something about the possibility of heavy rain throughout the morning. I flew away, annoyed over having lost the perfect vantage point to my favorite trash bin.
Later I spied ham-and-cheese, I mean Hiroko, running across the road to the bus stop for no clear reason. Her body was stiff and her arms were stuck to her hips. She got in line behind the others and immediately opened her umbrella, which I thought strange, as it wasn't raining. Sure, the pavement was damp and a morning fog hung in the air, but I perceived no precipitation on my tightly-folded feathers.
I remembered the public service announcement from earlier in the morning, and concluded Hiroko must've been quite shaken by it. Indeed she wore an expression of anguish on her face.
The bus arrived and the people shuffled on board. Hiroko planted one foot in the bus before she dared to fold up her umbrella, even in the absence of falling moisture.
The station wasn't so far away as the crow flies, so I flew there, hoping Hiroko might drop some food.
A few minutes later the bus parked in a place not so close to the station entrance, and now the skies produced a light drizzle. Hiroko burst from the bus with her umbrella open and sprinted for cover. My superior eyes detected no signs of food dropped, nor any water on her legs or feet. My loss, her good fortune.
Later the clouds dispersed and it became a beautiful, sunny afternoon. From my spot atop a utility pole I spotted Hiroko getting off the bus and walking with another neighbor friend in my direction. They both had food in their hands!
As they approached, something happened which I am quite ashamed of; but I am an animal after all, and at times it's impossible to control my bodily functions. In all the excitement I excreted a stream of liquid guano as Hiroko passed beneath me, sprinkling her face and hair.
At first Hiroko reacted with the same pained expression I had seen at the bus stop that morning. Then she peered up and saw me. She and her friend looked at each other. Hiroko showed a look of relief, and both women laughed.
Then I understood: Hiroko wasn't afraid of getting wet. She was afraid of rain.
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