It rained on patrol today. Not the mean kind of rain, the one that gets inside your shoes and soaks your socks, drowns the plants. The rain that’s just enough, y’know? The kind of rain you can say is pretty. The kind of rain people who love the rain talk about nonstop. Where the sky isn’t too gray, the clouds are just right. Somehow you can still see bits of the sunlight. 
 
The rain falls, covering the cobbled roads of Piltover, some uneven bricks gather more water than most, drawing puddles all over the street. It’s the kind of puddle as a kid you would want to jump into, the one that makes adults frown at you.
 
The droplets are small and light, it’s almost a sprinkle actually. This is the sky shrugging its shoulders. It’s great, and it reminds me of playing in the rain when I was young. Those are the best kind of memories you see–the ones where you just say ‘♥♥♥♥ it’ and do the reckless thing anyway.