The Stormy Afternoon That Scared The Cat

In the afternoon the sullen clouds create a mosh pit in the sky as the power-punk percussion of sudden thunder tears apart the firmament like mongrel puppies fighting over an old shoe. Delinquent winds chase newspapers down the debris-strewn alley as overfilled trashcans huddle together in an effort to fend off the fury of the choleric gale. 

Umbrellas ripped from the struggling hands of scurrying commuters peal and wheel down the boulevard like wayward tumbleweeds in search of a barbed-wire fence to rest upon while the slaphappy windshield wipers of a thousand drowning cars keep a steady rhythm for the legato beat of the slurring rain. 

Birds huddle together in thick bushes close to the ground, chirp-chirping their dismay over the spastic bursts that snap familiar branches off of homesteaded trees and send toiled-over nests crashing into the unforgiving gray of the concrete-covered city.  

Pig iron heavy clouds smother the empyrean horizon like a moth-eaten old flannel blanket that has been used to collect the spillage from oil changes and greased gearjoints, looming like castrated Conquistadors waiting their chance to unleash years of harbored resentment and rancour against the oblivious inferiors inside their thin paper and glass-walled fortresses.  
  
And then the cable goes out. Damn.