#TRUMP
The rain fell in sheets, blurring the city lights into a hazy glow. A lone figure hurried down the slick pavement, their umbrella a fragile shield against the downpour. The air was thick with the scent of wet asphalt and blooming jasmine, carried on the wind from a nearby garden. The city, usually a cacophony of sound, was muted, softened by the relentless rain. Each raindrop, a tiny percussionist, played a rhythmic melody on the rooftops and windows. Inside, warm lights spilled from cafes, offering a haven from the storm. The aroma of coffee and pastries mingled with the murmur of conversations, creating a cozy sanctuary. Outside, the world was a canvas of grey, a monochrome painting of solitude and quiet beauty. The rain, a relentless artist, painted the city with its own unique, temporary masterpiece.
