“Then, one day, I woke to the sound of rain on the roof of the tent — gently at first, but enough so that it woke me in the quiet hours before dawn. By the time I normally got up, it had swelled to a steady beat, and I dashed across the short stretch of ground between the tent and Marcus’ house.
“‘How long does it rain?’ I asked, and he chuckled.
“‘147 days, give or take.’
“Which was, more or less, the truth of it. Not much changed, except that all was done in the rain, or with the sound of rain as a backdrop. Some people wore rainsuits, hats, and the like, but I’d never had weather-proof clothing, and had lived in a far cooler climate, so I simply got soaked. Marcus took to keeping a towel at the front door so I could dry off before I went into the booth. (Even there, I could hear the rain padding against the walls and roof, though much fainter.)