For the Daily Post prompt
They sat in the café watching the small river in the gutter roaring past in search of a drain. Music from the radio on the bar and the light patter of voices, the whoosh of the coffee machine and the chinking of spoons could not cover the sound of the rain. The pavement was slick, dark grey, the slate roofs washed violet beneath the deluge. He pulled up the collar of his jacket and shivered. She took his hand across the table and smiled.
“When we graduate, you know where we’re going?”
He nodded, returning her smile. “South.”