It rained.

It rained for so many days that a heavy drizzle no longer occasioned an umbrella.

It rained for so many days that people with foresight began stockpiling two-by-fours, and squirrels, starlings, and pigeons paired off near the waterfront just in case.

It rained for so many days we got used to checking our reflections in puddles.

The lights reflecting in the rain-slick streets were a kind of sidewalk finery.

By the nth day, we secretly hoped it would never stop.

Gray was the new black.
Galoshes were the new Uggs.
Burberry sold out of plaid slickers.

I went broke buying $3 umbrellas.

It rained for so many days we let the children out into the schoolyard anyway, and when they returned dripping and scattering raindrops like shaking dogs, we mopped patiently and went on teaching.

It rained for so many days we stopped mopping.

On my way to work, a subway window burst open, and water gushed in and over the seats beside mine, onto the floor, swirling down the length of the car, around the metal poles and out into the tunnel under the doors.

We desired to live in interesting times.

We were secretly glad to have befriended sailors.

It rained

for so many days.