There are some things which cannot coexist in the same space. Not simply a matter of moving to another table, another apartment or even a new town. It's like anti-matter. One will eventually destroy the other. He was determined to prevail.
He can't recall the exact day his awareness of the problem began, but the date he began planning his retaliation was burned in his mind like the spot where the fly lights on the sherbet. Carefully, quietly, methodically he toiled in preparation for the event which would free him from his overarching nemesis. Countless were the days he executed 'dry runs', not allowing a single variable to occur which could scuttle his plans.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity of plotting and waiting, arrived the morning of the day for action.
But, even before he looked out the window; before he got out of bed; before he so much as opened his eyes - he knew he had failed. All his work, lo these many years, was for naught. He had made one minuscule, yet fatal error. One insidiously simple factor, tragically, had escaped him.
It was raining.