It was a rainy day but she needed to get out. Nothing could stop her, not the thunder or lightning, or flash flood warning texts. It was that kind of day. On days like those, her yellow boots seemed to have a life of their own, and so off they went, taking her on a path that she had never come across. But she could hardly care. Or maybe she didn’t even notice. If every thought process, every neuronal activity makes a sound, you’d hear the cacophony of clicks, buzz, and ticks inside that skull, going a little overboard not…