[ it's a sound that yi sang is fond of, yi sang says. hong lu thinks - it must be that it had been the only sound that yi sang could hear, all those years outside of his window, before capitalism and then depression swept away the rest of his world. hong lu could relate. on most days, it was the murmur of the window and the shifting of gossip. but on good days, it was just hong lu and the rain, and the knowledge that the rain that falls upon his side of the world is the same rain that everyone else must be experiencing. if hong lu couldn't go to the world, the world could at least come to him one little droplet at a time.

it had been raining, too, the day those bus headlights illuminated the darkness.

yi sang has not danced in the rain. hong lu smiles. ]

I've never danced in the rain before, but I have danced. Does that make me your upperclassman when it comes to dancing? But I've never danced with someone else before.

[ hong lu looks. ] We should dance. In the rain, I think, would be fun. It'll be like wearing a second skin. As it soaks into our clothes, our clothes will feel different. It will feel changed. I think the world might look a little different by then, wouldn't it?