Shake Shack night rained out.

Moving on. Frank, Kicky et al missed nothing by not coming down to the Shack last evening. I stepped out of the store at about 5:45pm and looked West and knew I'd seen that kind of cloud before, the greeny-black roiling kind, heading towards your unprotected position in a hurry. The last time I saw a sky like that there was about twenty five miles of Oklahoma wheatfields between me, my bicycle and the towers of lightning. This time they were just about overhead. The sky opened. No. The sky was rent from stem to stern, from end to end, from pillar to post, from A to Z, from ridiculous to sublime, from a point essentially equal to the position of my right foot to a point roughly akin to that of infinity. The wind sought out any passersby who foolishly thought they could dodge the deluge by darting into the shelter of doorways. I don't believe I've ever had the experience of West AND East winds at the same time, but there they were, butting up against each other while the drenching, pounding, pouring rain soaked the large and the small, the umbrella-ed and the exposed, those holding eight-hundred dollar briefcases over the heads and those with a plastic shopping bag tied on like a babushka. A group of us, soaked to the skin with a slight hint of wet dog aroma, clambered onto the 23 bus and watched as a gray curtain of water held every vehicle on the street in place and stopped the world. The bus crawled foot by foot towards Eighth Ave where I was going to make my break for the E train and just as we passed Seventh there was a gasp from the woman standing next to me. "Look," she said to her girlfriend,"We should have waited." I looked West where she was pointing. There was the sun. Going about her business, getting ready to do her best Frying Pan sunset dive, tying a few of the little clouds around her into ribbons for her hair. Rain? Where? When? I sighed a New York commuter sigh and squished my way down the steps of the subway and headed uptown. Joe(okay, next week)Nation