The morning rush would typically last a few hours, thinning to a slow crawl near the end. This generally led to a slight lull in business, allowing Neil to properly piece together anything he heard. Today a storm was late, and it was somehow the fault of the weather ponies. Scrunching down in his crate to angle himself correctly, Neil could barely see a sliver of gray sky between Joe's roof and the top of his box. At some point between six and eight A.M., cloud cover had blown in. That still begged the question of how a storm could be late and why it was the fault of the pegasi?