True enough, scattered showers as warned by Doreen from the kitchen table at her early supper. Better take an umbrella. A look out West through the living-room window had shown high blue cloud. By that hour the skies would have emptied themselves, surely. At ground out beyond the Void, on the vegetable garden side, the drops surprised. From the tenth floor Dore could not have seen the pitter-patter along the outer walk-way. Nevertheless, the landlady had proved perfectly correct: a bloom of umbrellas in hands on every side. Light steady sprinkling. Regardless, this population in the Tropics was justifiably wary of getting the scalp wet. One often saw all ages and genders with outspread hand atop the head, as people scurried between the buildings or stepped from buses. The matter had been proved too: even a light dousing of the scone here was enough to raise sniffles and in short order disabling head colds. No trifling. Yet over at the edge of the exercise yard now, close by the vegetable gardens, here suddenly was the Loner, stretched out using his bench as a bed. One leg was crooked and the other over the top of the armrest; at the other end the weary old head awkwardly pillowed against the iron. Shut-eye it looked, and likely not feigning sleep either. Drizzle was funnelling upon him particularly it seemed in that segment of light. In his mustard caftan late morning the man had stopped by the Wadi table, mutely pleading. Eventually, while the coin was fished out, 4 - 5 words had been exchanged. Man continued well. Baik, clearly sounded. By early evening he had tired himself.
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