He pounded his steering wheel, kicked the floor, thumped his cassette player till it suddenly started playing Barry Manilow, thumped it again till it stopped, and swore and swore and swore and swore and swore.
It was at the very moment that his fury was peaking that there loomed swimmingly in his headlights, hardly visible through the blatter, a figure by the roadside.
A poor bedraggled figure, strangely attired, wetter than an otter in a washing machine, and hitching.
Poor miserable sod, thought Rob McKeena to himself, realizing that here was somebody with a better right to feel hard done by than himself, must be chilled to the bone. Stupid to be out hitching on a filthy night like this. All you get is cold, wet, and lorries driving through puddles at you.
He shook his head grimly, heaved another sigh, gave the wheel a turn and hit a large sheet of water square on.
See what I mean? he thought to himself as he ploughed swiftly through it. You get some right bastards on the road.
Splattered in his rear mirror a couple of seconds later was the reflection of the hitch-hiker, drenched by the roadside.
For a moment he felt good about this. A moment or two later he felt bad about feeling good about it. Then he felt good about feeling bad about feeling good about it and, satisfied, drove on into the night.
At least it made up for having been finally overtaken by that Porsche he had been diligently blocking for the last twenty miles.
And as he drove on, the rainclouds dragged down the sky after him, for, though he did not know it, Rob McKeena was a Rain God. All he knew was that his working days were miserable and he had a succession of lousy holidays. All the clouds knew was that they loved him and wanted to be near him, to cherish him, and to water him.
他捶着方向盘，踹着地板，敲打着磁带机直到机器开始播放巴瑞.曼尼洛（注）的歌，随后又敲打了一遍直到机器闭嘴，并且不断地诅咒，诅咒，诅咒，诅咒，再诅咒。
就在这个非常时刻，在他的怒火熊熊燃烧之时，有一个路边的身影在车灯的亮光中闪现，在一片雨雾中很难看清。
那是一个倒霉的落汤鸡，打扮得很奇怪，比一张洗衣机里的水獭皮还湿，而且正试图搭个便车。
“真是个倒霉孩子，”罗勃.麦克基纳想着，意识到这里居然有个人比他自己还有权利去悲哀，“一定是冻僵了。在这么一个凄惨的夜晚还在外面搭便车，简直笨透了。你所能得到的就是凄风苦雨以及经过的大卡车溅你一身泥。”
他无情地摇了摇头，又叹了一口气，让轮子转向一边，趟进了一大片水洼。
“明白了么？”他一边琢磨着，一边很快地把车整过那片水洼。“你在这条路上碰到了一些真正的混蛋。”
几秒种后，那个搭便车者出现在了他的后视镜上，浑身湿透。
有一会儿，他觉得这么干很爽。一会儿或两会儿之后，他对于自己的爽快又觉得有些不爽。接着他又对自己的对爽快感到不爽而感到非常爽，于是满意地驶入了夜幕。
至少这种爽的感觉弥补了刚才被自己艰难堵截了二十英里的保时捷最终超车所带来的不爽。
他一边开着，雨云就一边跟着他，因为（他自己还不知道）罗勃.麦克基纳其实是个雨神。他自己只知道他的工作日很悲哀，而他的假日则会延续这种悲哀。而所有的雨云都知道，它们喜欢他，想要凑近他，抱紧他，把他淋个透。