Summer of 1993 I was in Boston walking in the rain toward South Station to catch a bus to Maine to see my folks. There was a lot of construction at the new station, so there were temporary fences and walkways, with lots of signs to help find your way. Everyone was doing their best to stay under the roof of the tracks to stay dry. A man holding a briefcase was standing in a way so that his case was hiding the first letter to a sign. As I walked into the area, I saw a bold blue sign with an arrow that read, RAIN STATION. My brain took a minute and wondered what a Rain Station was. Do they monitor the rain fall there? Is it a temporary structure to keep passengers dry? Then as my perspective and angle changed, I noticed there was a T behind his briefcase, and the sign said Train Station. Silly me. Here I am at Boston’s South Station, and I think the sign says Rain Station. The moment stuck with me. I had seen a sign. Not only did Mark and I name the band Rain Station, but we named the (soon to be condemned) house we lived in, Rain Station being in the fog zone of San Francisco’s Sunset Beach District. Black mold took that house over, and we all had to move out. Hack hack cough cough. Very damp and rainy indeed.