here we go!

the storm machine is on the roof.

and although you would assume it would be some sort of antennae array, sending signals to the heavens, it isn't. you would be wrong if this is what you had assumed.

the storm machine operates on the principle of this conversation:

"ada, why aren't there more thunderstorms?"

after a period of silence where you feel tired, she keeps her eyes closed and says to the phone, "i don't know, allen. probably there aren't enough warm and cold fronts."

"you're saying the lack of friction is doing things in here."

"i don't know. i mean, i studied french. but, since you asked me, i'm going to say it's not enough warm and cold fronts."


months later and after they'd stopped speaking, allen looked up at the sky and felt something tugging in the silence. he looked up and it tugged some more and he went inside his apartment and it kept tugging, in his head in his gut on his hair in an upwards motion and he was tugged to the roof and sat down.

he looked out and around and saw them building the comcast building shining in the sun at 5 p.m. and city hall and but it was when he saw the ice cream truck on the roof next door that he remembered about the warm and the cold and the things that tension brings.

allen has nailed a sign to the door

it reads
we have built a storm machine on the roof and are watching it work, we will be available when it is done.

he is not lying.

1. draw yourself a thunder cloud

the thunder clapped all around them and they sat there on the couch, watching the whole storm via satellite.

the weather moves how it wants to, is something she's learned to notice and he just sits there. grinning with half his slacked jaw at the things he can't control.

the thunder clapped all around them and they sat there on the couch, which had three white cushions the length of a forearm or so on a wooden frame. and cushions in the back.