He was a black-hatted chassid, but I thought he could be a storm chaser.
Then again, perhaps the storm was inside of him. He carried a cyclonic energy and as he traveled, he drew the lost and lonely wayfarers. He seemed to have an uncanny sense that something was about to happen, that he could not afford to waste a minute lest he lose the one destined moment he had been born for.
Time is of essence to the storm chaser; his greatest failure is to miss a major tornado on account of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And so, the chaser is always on the move. Though he cannot know what lies ahead, he will travel hundreds of miles to follow a storm; he will traverse states and cross borders, unstoppable in his pursuit.
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