He paced back and forth across the length of the house, passing through each room, stopping at each window, looking at nothing in particular outside. There was no wind and the rain fell exactly perpendicular to the ground. A chair stood in the middle of the backyard. When he came to the window that faced it, he stood staring at the chair for a moment. He had put it there the day before. He regretted that. It had been raining for hours and the upholstery was soaked through. The chair had been set in one of the contours of the yard, a low point apparently, and water had been steadily collecting there, rising up the elegantly carved legs at a surprising rate.
He pressed his forehead against the glass and exhaled, his breath blooming across the pane instantly. The chair was gone, lost behind a cloud of condensation on glass and rain beyond.
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