We sat on the patio for the first time in a 5-month summer. The sun was hiding under a thick layer of milky gray clouds swirling together a storm. My soul craved rain and my skin was thirsty, every pore welcomed the air's spirits like tiny shot glasses at a divine Happy Hour. Tables began filling up with patrons so ecstatic over cool air they chanced a downpour. An array of businesspeople on lunch break and tourists from the outlet mall trickled in, everyone elated by a glimpse of liquid oasis. We braved the first sprinkles. Considered staying put even when the drops gained frequency and weight. Then a thunder cluster snapped so ferociously I popped an inch up in my chair. The sky burst . We scrambled to clear our dining remnants and precious belongings, tucking cell phones in our armpits to dash toward the line of patio goers filing inside. Peering out 360-degree glass windows at flash flood, dumping buckets kinda rain, we laughed. "That's Vegas for you!" she proclaimed. "So Vegas," I smiled.