Chapter 2 Chapter two

Rob McKenna was a mean bastard, he knew it all too well, because it had been pointed out to him by a lot of people over the years, and he couldn't find any good reason to argue against it, except this— He likes to be against people, especially those he doesn't like, that is to say, everyone. He sighed and shifted gears. The road started to get steeper and his truck was heavy with a Danish radiator. He wasn't always in a bad mood, at least he didn't think so.It's just the rain that bothers him, every time it's because of the rain. And now it was raining, so his mood became bad because of it.

It's a particular type of rain that he doesn't particularly like right now, especially when he's driving.He numbered all kinds of rain.This is No. 17. He had read somewhere that the Eskimos had more than two hundred different words for snow, without which their conversation would be very monotonous.That way they can tell the difference between sparse snow and dense snow, light snow and heavy snow, snow that causes mud, crumbly snow, windy snow, big chunks of snow, neighbors' boot soles that come in and stay behind Snow on the floor, snow in winter, snow in spring, snow that is far better than any kind of snow that you can remember from childhood, beautiful snow, snow goose feathers, snow on the mountains, snow in the valleys, snow that falls in the morning, at night The falling snow, the snow that falls just as you're about to go fishing, and the snow that no matter what you teach those Eskimos, they're still pissing on it.

In Rob McKenna's pamphlet there are two hundred and thirty different kinds of rain, none of which he likes. He shifted another gear and the truck picked up speed.The on-board Danish radiator emits a pleasant hum. Since leaving Denmark yesterday afternoon, he has experienced rain no. 33 (drizzle that makes the road slippery), rain no. The drizzle turned into a moderate drizzle), No. 87 and No. 88 (two types of vertically falling downpours with very small differences), No. 100 rain (a downpour followed by a cold wind), all the way from No. 192 in an instant Marine storms that changed to 213, rain 123, 124, 126, and 127 (mild to moderate cold wind with a rhythmic hum), rain 11 (light rain with a breeze), and now this What he hates the most is rain on the 17th.

Rain on the 17th, that is to say dirty raindrops pounding hard on the front windows incessantly, with or without windshield wipers makes no difference at all. To test the validity of his definition, he turned off the windshield wipers, resulting in worse visibility.And it didn't recover after he turned the wipers back on. In fact, one of the wipers started crackling. Swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe He smashed the steering wheel, he kicked the floor, he punched the recorder, the recorder immediately started playing Barry Manninou, he kept pounding the recorder until it was silent, and then he started cursing, Cursing, swearing, swearing and swearing.

His rage was at its peak when the light of his headlights revealed a figure on the side of the road, barely visible in the heavy rain. It was a poor muddy guy, weirdly dressed, more wet than an otter in a washing machine, standing there waving his thumb for a ride. "Poor fellow," thought Rob McKenna, as he finally found someone worse off than he was, "must be bone-chilled, to come out and hold up a car on such a filthy night. Only to get cold, The wetness and the muddy water splashed on you as the truck drove past you." He shook his head grimly, sighed again, turned the steering wheel, and rushed into a puddle, splashing muddy water.

"You see what I mean?" he thought as he sprinted past. "You're going to meet some assholes along the way." Seconds later, in the rearview mirror of his car, he saw the guy who wanted a ride standing on the side of the road, splashed with mud and water. For a moment he was happy about it.After a while he felt a little unhappy that he was happy that he had done such a thing.And then he's happy that he's happy that he did something like this and that he's a little bit unhappy.Then he was very satisfied to continue driving. He'd put a Porsche behind his ass for twenty miles before and was overtaken, much to his displeasure.But now it's being compensated again from the poor guy.

He kept driving, the rain clouds chasing him overhead.He didn't know he was a rain machine.All he knew was that his workdays were miserable and that he had a string of bad holidays.And Nimbus only knew that they liked Robert, and always wanted to follow him, hug him, and wash him over.