It's raining. GM is at the open window at my shoulder, rapt. The drops are huge, and coming down so thickly that the steam from the roof of the building next door looks like dust. A close bolt of lightning, and GM herself becomes a bolt, heading over to the next room so she can be brave under the bed.
I never handed in the last writing assignment on settings. Teacher had already taken plot and characterization away from me. I didn't want her to have settings too.
Why do I give a shit what people think?