It's raining.  Get used to it, McKinley, it's clearly the wave of the future.*  It took me over forty-five minutes to get home from my voice lesson today**, a journey that usually takes fifteen, thanks to—mostly—the weather.  It was also what passes for rush hour gridlock in a small southern city and as I groped my way hand over hand to Wolfgang from Blondel's front door and the wind gave me friction burns, I had thought about going home the back way, but the problem with little kinky...