A black and white sketch of a man standing in the rain.
(Angel Brinston)

The first real rain of the season was last night and I got totally soaked. My impression was that the rain wasn’t gonna start until later in the morning. My impression was wrong. It started raining at 4:00 a.m. The worst possible time for me. I’m sleeping at my campsite in the hills, still drunk, with no raincoat or rain gear. Basically oblivious.Just before the rain begins, Mini Scaredy—a cat who hangs around my campsite—wakes me up with her incessant meowing. Possibly as a heroic Lassie-like gesture to awaken me from my drunken stupor and alert me about the impending rain. Or, more likely she just wants to wake me up so I’ll get off of my ass and feed her breakfast before she gets soaked. At any rate, she woke me up in the nick of time.

I stagger out of my blankets—which are already getting soaked from the ever-increasing rain, dump some cat food in a dish for Mini Scaredy. Then struggle in the darkness to pack up my blankets.

Then the real bummer. The long march back to civilization with no respite from the downpour. By the time I make it to an awning I’m completely soaked. And will remain in that state for the next eight hours until the sun finally comes up and I can dry myself out.

Here we go…

This post originally appeared on Ace’s blog, Acid Heroes.

Ace Backwords is a homeless writer and artist who lives in Berkeley, California. You can find more writing on his blog.