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My love for comfort is most manifested when I’m stuck at home during a downpour. Cozied in bed and unmindful of a raging storm, I am prone to wax nostalgic about the things I miss the most and things which I regret. I’ve found the rain to be most conducive and even pleasing to writing. The cool weather allows me to recall memories, as if they are chunks of debris resurfacing as a flood encroaches city streets, and inundate my present, leaving me drowning (and drunk) in the past. Possessed with creative streaks, the rainy weather is where writing becomes a source of warmth – the friction of thoughts, and the consequent physical action of expressing and arranging them as words, sets ablaze a man who, these days, finds so little of time to be entangled in a life of letters.

It is during the raining season too, that my senses are most focus-sharpened to appreciate music. And there is no song better at capturing it than this wicked cover of Classic IV’s Stormy by the unimpeachable Gabor Szabo.