Mr Oak’s Morning

Started writing a short story that I’ve had cooped up in the ol’ brain for far too long. Here’s the first few lines:

Mr Oak stepped outside, opened his umbrella and sighed. He had no fondness for drizzle. Showers he approved of, as they warranted the use of an umbrella when venturing out into the open. The sturdy tapping on the canopy confirmed your choice of meteorological protection as a wise one, a normal one. Drizzle, on the other hand, offered no such assurance. With drizzle, the use of an umbrella suddenly became a matter of personal preference, of psychological folly, some would have you believe. Indeed, Mr Oak had, in the past, felt the awkward stares of his umbrella-free counterparts out and about in the Chesterbrook streets on many a drizzle day. How he resented being stared at. After all, why should he be thought of as strange for bringing his umbrella? Why not them? Why would anyone, in fact, prefer clamminess to a safe, dry passage? No. Drizzle would elicit no sympathy from him.

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