The Rain

I am unclear what the umbrella salesmen back home do on all those sunny days.  But even a whiff of rain brings them out from the sidewalk cracks with the world’s most unstable devices.  In London where rain is a when, not if, proposition, they are nowhere.  Exiting the Tube station in the midst of an evening downpour I seek help.  I receive none, only looks of disapproval.  They seem to be saying, “This is London, man, get with the program!”