He didn't know when the rain had stopped and started again the previous night but, early in the morning, it seeped into his porous sleep, turning it into a weak composition of dreams and consciousness, much like a watercolor painting where the dark notes were made watery and pale for an immediate effect. While his sleep was merging with the encompassing wetness and pattering of rain, he woke up early in the morning to welcome yet another rainy afternoon at Chrysanthemum Street with a Modigliani painting.