Outside, the rain pours, splattering against New York City asphalt jungle. The weather grabs my personality. Where is God when I really need him? Hard faces register around the diner. Apparently, I'm not the only one affected by dreary weather. The weather makes everyone somber, although somehow I find it comforting, in a distant, abstract, sort of way. I look around the diner again. Weathered faces are everywhere. I study their lines, their wear and tear. The guy next to me looks grizzled. Hardened and tough, in only a New York City way. So many years of friction, so many tough years, the faces read like the inner circles of an old tree. There's a lot of age, a lot of miles in the diner. In New York, I can't sweat the small stuff. Life will bury me alive, literally. No, I can't sweat the small stuff. Grizzled, hardened, tough faces are everywhere. I breath it all in, while searching for God. Somehow, I know that I'm not going to find him today.
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