It’s raining, it’s storming, and you’re travelling by bus and by train to come home. I’ll be there at the station, on the corner, hood up high and fists firm in pockets, grinning clenched teeth through the sheets of shit, lit by passing cars and streetlamps (I don't mean the streetlamps will be passing, they'll most likely be stationary). You’ll wave and wait for a break in traffic and then make a dash across to say hi and happy weekend. We’ll walk home fast and maybe haunt a pub for quick practice drink if the rain gets too heavy. And we'll spruce up and head out, or pour a bigger drink and stay in. We can do whatever we want. It's the weekend.