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His light brown suit looks like golden wheat as he steps out the door and into the dark hallway. Everything turns cold again. After a silent moment she finally turns away from the green, paint chipped door, stares out the window and prays for rain. She always prays for rain when he leaves; and he always leaves. The panic begins to set in. It simply must rain. If it doesn't she will sit here and watch the day pass by with no reason to be kept inside. She pulls her knees close and lays her hands loosely on her shins. Her salmon pink slip falls back showing more of the flesh to her thigh. The warm glow of the morning washes over her face and the quiet tears begin to surge.
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