 This is called Word Storm. Saturday night adventure in the blinding rain. GK telephones from Vallejo, wants me to hear him feature and wants to hear my new poem during open mic. But it's Vallejo, so what can I do? Cable car ride and ferry boat trip, and then a long walk. Am I up for this? One time I had asked GK whether he liked living there with his current love. And whether it was a good place for me to move. No effing way, he said. I mean no effing way. There is no effing way you should ever effing move to effing Vallejo, effing ever. Do you effing hear me? GK liked to make a point. And in case you're wondering about my use of that term, when I was a child and said a bad word, my mouth was washed out with fells, naphtha, laundry soap, and so I still can't say that word in public, so sorry. The magic day arrived when GK was being featured in Vallejo, but it was pouring rain, pouring felines and canines with dolphins thrown in. The raindrops had gills. I gathered my good luck charms in a spiritual huddle, and off the gang of us went in the wet and windy downpour. Anything for poetry, anything at all. My London fog umbrella had suffered near fatal damage and the last rainstorm caught in a burst of hail outside the old Sears robot store on Masonic, but it still had a few minutes of service remaining. So my battered umbrella and I forged a path through the rain from cable car to ferry boat in record time. That tough little ferry rocked and rolled all the way to Vallejo while I downed multiple glasses of wine to keep my courage dry. My cantankerous poet friend was celebrating a birthday in a town he hated, but in a tiny coffee house he loved, just a few blocks from the pier, and I promised to be there. Suddenly I was on stage during open mic with a parcel of musicians while it rained outside like there was no tomorrow. I read aloud my new poem about romantic love in a menstrual storm, feeling wonderfully grand for a rain-soaked Saturday night. GK roared with delight. There it was, sex talk, rough cider, poetry in the raw, joys of menstruation, foot stomping jazz, pesky raindrops, carats of wine, and my birthday friend laughing as though he were back in New York and free of Vallejo forever. Thank you.