The past is a grotesque animal

When I was young, I would pretend that the raindrops on the window were having a race.  I would choose a favorite and track its progress with my finger until it disappeared, tail wriggling out of my sight like a renegade tadpole.  Usually it would be the fattest one, or the scraggliest one, on days when I felt like supporting the underdog.  Back then, entertainment was cheap.

I am thinking of doing a photo series about pain.  Specifically what pain means to different people.  Thoughts?