There are only three things you can truly rely on in this post-truth world: The Chinese straw hat, oxen, and the rain.

Donna Porcellino was pissed and then some. If she were a cartoon character, a steady flow of steam would spew from her ears, causing her hair to rise three to five inches above her scalp. Alas, she was just a mortal composed of flesh and blood, so she was merely drenched to the bone, her shoulders hunched, her nerves tightly wound and knotted, barely containing the angst from within. Her facial expression clearly said, leave me alone or I will chew your head off.

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