But the rain is just so wet, that they must all stay hidden.
Slowly, as the night goes by, the people fall out, some braving the storm, but most drawing to the edges of the clear shelter, pacing, or collapsing completely against the smooth glass walls.
No one's quite sure what to say anymore, and the chorus of noise has subtly fallen to short, choppy verses that grow quieter and quieter until silence covers the ceiling in a soft, spoken lullaby.
As eyes fall shut and hands apart, the world inside the glass becomes cold and still, like that moment of first snow fall each winter. But the people do not notice one another, and break connections as eyes close and minds shut down for the night, locking up the store window's where thoughts can be bought with expensive doctors and tests upon tests.
The granite flooring seems to freeze over, and teeth chatter in short coma-sleeps. No one will wake, but the world of glass is dreamless. Just as you and I might have a morning shower, or midnight snack, glass people tend to forget themselves and the world around them, and accept the silent, frozen world with a small, goodbye smile.
It's sad to think, however, that a few restless souls pace back and fourth all night long, not quite able to shut their eyes for the last time, to lay their body down to rest. They walk the same path for hours upon hours, unfolding into countless days and months.
These people cannot move on.
When you die, you stop dreaming. It's sad, but every dream ends, and you must wake up.
When you say goodbye, and lay yourself down in a tolerable position on the cool, granite floor...you lose the ability to ever wake again, as your life slips out from under you and moves on.
If you cannot move on...