Сегодня полдня идёт дождь. В обед внезапно почернело...

Today it is raining half day. By lunchtime, the sky suddenly blackened, gusts of wind gustingly thudded through the open windows, raising the curtains sails to the ceiling, the dull thunders of thunder somewhat resembled the roar of jet engines of an airplane. The first drops fell, heavy and sonorous. There were more and more of them, and then someone suddenly opened the heavenly valve: a continuous stream of water gushed to the ground, covering it with a huge water blanket, which frothy at the gutters, spinning in a mysterious ancient dance, then caressed to the curbs, then wrapped its legs passers-by and the wheels of rare bicycles and motorbikes. The stream of heavenly water either weakened, then intensified again, until, finally, it turned into a dull rain in the Petersburg style. It can rain all day, two or a week. He lazily knocks on window sills, lazily touches tree branches, clings to them, then to fall on a thin asphalt with a thin silver stream; his monotonous song lulls, causes a strange sadness, fetters the will, talking about the meaninglessness and accident of everything that happens on Earth.
At first I succumbed to his persuasion, to his sweet whisper, so quietly and persistently in my ears. Thoughts went away, I wanted only peace and quiet. Then, nevertheless, I got up, fastened my sandals on my feet, opened my umbrella and stepped into the open space. Either because of the rain, or because it was still quite early — around eight o’clock in the evening — but Siem Reap seemed to me just as sleepy and monotonous. Even the always noisy Pub Street was calm and measured, the bars looked half empty, the music was muffled, the tuk-tuk drivers were not so obsessive. Quiet, calm. I like this Siem Reap the most.