A great day for dessert

I now know what it feels like to be a homeless person, unofficially. To start, NY's seen its fair share of thunder and lightning these past few weeks, and I've been the unfortunate victim of one-too-many drenching rainstorms. Yesterday, Richelle, Kevin, and I went berry-picking along the West Side Highway's uptown stretch, ignoring an older gentleman's caveat: "Boysenberries attract rats." I was the spiky-haired hero at the onset of an RPG--I felt that our innocent hike would escalate into something larger, eventually leaving the fate of the world in our hands. After abandoning the garden of Richelle's summer sublet, we walked alongside a foreboding graveyard and entered an abandoned tunnel, the only means (besides teleportation) to reach the prized boysenberry tree. I repeatedly told myself that it wouldn't rain, but the pregnant clouds saw my lying ways. Kevin held the bowl, while Richelle and I maniacally picked berries. A lightning bolt above the Jersey skyline indicated that the sky would erupt soon. And boy did it erupt! I was soaked and, needless to say, so were Kevin's Converses. Since high school, I've learned to wear those puppies solely during dry, predictable weather. We walked to the train station and parted ways, having completed our strange endeavor. I'll soon be in the kitchen to bake an extraordinary pie. What a great way to spend my last day as a 21-year-old!