...Sweet summer sweat/ Some dance to remember/ Some dance to forget...
I drive, skin slick with sweat and rainwater.
"There's water coming in your window. Doesn't that bother you?"
When it does, I'll roll up the window.
I enjoy a good storm- from my front porch, or other sheltered location. Or even out in it, on foot. I like to tip my face to the sky, feel droplets slide like cool fingers along my neck and shoulders and arms, trickle to tickle down my back, between my breasts. Driving in a downpour is less enjoyable. Pushing down the gut-clenching fear that something terrible will happen to my car, my precious Tanmobile, I dive into washout water, reaping grim delight in the plumes that fan out on either side.
Rain falling on the canvas top is entertaining, its plosive rhythm like that of popcorn, with a softer sound.
The sun returns presently; I am past the storm. It warms my skin, and I drive south, with the sweet flavor of someone else's smile in my mouth, sun gleaming on skin slick with sweat and rainwater.
(Hotel California; The Eagles)