Sunday

"And it's all so much bullshit, Thomas, I really believe that," Warren said, smiling.
Thomas stared, unblinking, out the window and across the parking lot through steam rising hot off the tarmac at two girls entering the Rite-Aid. Both wore black hooded sweatshirts despite the heat and humidity that had settled over the town earlier that week. He could feel his forehead slicked with sweat. As he reached up his arm to wipe the sweat away, he could feel his skin sticking to the cheap vinyl upholstery of Warren's sedan.
"Jesus Warren, can't you turn the A/C on? It's 90 fucking degrees, man."
Warren tilted his head out the window and spit with a cautious, methodical movement of his lips that Thomas could not help but interpret as condescension before replying slowly, "Shit Tom, it's a beautiful fucking day."
And as he looked down the length of the bench seat at Thomas, his eyes earnest and honest, the sky darkened suddenly and rain began to fall, gradually at first and then with increasing intensity. Warren smiled as he pulled out a cigarette from his breast pocket and stuck it ceremoniously in his mouth.
Thomas rolled his eyes, sighed, and looked back out the window to see the two girls standing in the middle of the lot, their hooded figures partially obscured by rainfall, with arms outstretched and faces pointed skyward; praying for rain.