In an outrageously out-of-character moment, I loved the rain so much today. It came down violently and thunderously at around 6pm, and covered the streets in dimpled sheets of glass. It pounded against the top of my AC unit and swept across my window, loosening specks of black grime that left gray dribbles sliding across the pane. Across the street at the Chelsea Hotel, someone was taking full advantage, sweeping the grit off her balcony and unleashing a wall of water that poured through the iron-wrought railing and flowed onto the sidewalk. Lightening illuminated the sky even with the sun still peeking out through the clouds above, and the thunder would crack and resolve into a rolling rumble that seemed to ripple the streams of water that flowed over the streets. The sky was a marbled hue of slate, navy, dusty cerulean and dove gray. It was relentless and consuming and so thoroughly cleansing, it was like someone gave New York City a good hard shake of the shoulders.