The rain starts as the cashier rings me up. We both look out at the market’s parking lot and agree that California really needs the water.

“Godzilla El Niño,” I say.

“Yeah, I that. But that name is stupid. El Niño is Spanish, Godzilla was Japanese.”

“Technically, I think he attacked Japan, but I’m not sure he was from there.”

“Either way, we’re getting rain.”

“Hopefully snow too. That’s what we really need.”

“Snow! I’m hitting the mountains for sure! Ski trip!”

She raises her arms above her shoulders, waves them in opposition to her swaying hips. The dance is brief, but it ends with a spin move that flows seamlessly into her scanning a quart of milk.

“That’s my snow dance,” she says. “You like it?”

“It’s great. But go easy on it for the next hour or so. I’ve got some more errands to run and I’m wearing flip flops.”

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