irregular spasmodic waves

The rain begins to fall in irregular spasmodic waves, pock-pocking against the bobbing umbrellas, creating a tympanic white noise that unsettles the man’s nerves, disrupting his ability to process the low-level, broad-spectrum input of crowd movement. A woman begins to whistle, a thin atonal sound; to call it a melody would be a lie. The man’s unthinking arhythmic stride stutters. For a moment, he almost panics. He feels for the reassuring weight of the weapon in his coat pocket, knowing the motion itself would incrementally increase the turbulence in the flow of the crowd.
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