It was wet but the rain stopped. When I saw no body on the shadowy street, a couple strode passing from behind me under my camera. It was then when I arrived at the entrance of the park taking snapshots, the nasty guy who hit me at the rear side of the park before, came so close that he almost hit me again. Ignoring his nuisance I hurried for the viewing platform, and at the bottom I met a group of park regulars leaving like moving silhouettes. At the rooftop the birds chirped urging me to climb to the lonely platform. I walked along the watery steps trying to find an angle that I could see the king palm together with the arch column. Rain began to fall and the wind rose to blow my umbrella away when I was laying down a sheet of plastic on the wet floor. In the gloom, under the dim light providing by the glow of the street lamp, I was exciting to see some definite sharps on the pinecones and quickly laid down distinguishing tones onto the outline of the sketch. But a gust of rainy wind blew my picture away onto the damp floor, at the same time drops of dense rain, fell with no mercy, dispersing the paints on the soaking picture. I felt losing control upon the overwhelming natural catastrophe, which has made the paper to become too wet to absorb paints any more, and reluctantly I had to leave it looking like a foggy scene.