Smoking in a Rainstorm

You ever get the feeling that something bad is about to happen?
I woke up late this morning to a phone call from Trey Sadler. Walking outside 30 minutes later, the sky was as forbidding as the frown your father gives you when you walk in after having snuck out at 2:00 in the morning. A random painter was walking through the parking lot acting like a nervous virgin undoing her shirt in a by-the-hour hotel room with one glass wall. He said something about hoping the rain doesn't run the paint, and then he was gone. As soon as I pulled out of the parking lot, the rain started. It was a cold rain that stank of foreboding.
Driving through downtown Lexington trying to smoke in a rainstorm, I realized the niccotene was chasing away the feelings of dread, but not completely.
I drove slowly through the flash floods, splitting my attention between the road and the leak in my sunroof from a wreck I had three years ago.
Once at work, the anxiety lingered. Maybe it has to do with my father.
"Dad, you doin' ok?"
"Yeah, son. Everythings fine here. Why?"
The next thing to pop into my mind was perhaps someone else I know. Alex? I haven't talked to him in a while...
Larkin? Mom? Austin?
I think of Trey's invite to his brother Bob's house later, and all I see are dirty yellow street lights, Bob's red-rimmed eyes, and a feeling I can't put words to, but it's darker than the night outside.
This feeling rotting my insides like bad chinese food isn't about Larkin or my mother.
Perhaps I'll just steer clear of Bob's house tonight, and keep it at that.