There was a tension in the air.
James Foster navigated the baking, crowded streets of London in June with an ease borne of decades of experience. Of course, it helped that he was a man over six feet tall and notably broad, and even in this notoriously self-involved city the crowds naturally parted before him. Not that he was particularly aware that this was unusual. As far as James was concerned, this was just what crowds did when you walked towards them - this bubble of personal space into which nobody would dare trespass. That's simply how crowds work! Otherwise people would be walking into each other all the time.
As the sun beat down on the crowds James could feel the familiar pressure of a building storm, the clouds gathering above the tower blocks determined to reach critical mass and turn the winding roads into a mess of new rivers. It was always a distraction, like the clouds were gathering inside his head, squalling and clamouring for attention. He squinted up as one of them excitedly brushed the edge of the solar disk. He wasn't sure exactly how far it was back to the office but he knew, as much as he loved the breaking of a summer storm, as much as it cleared the air and his mind, he didn't actually want to sit the rest of the afternoon in a soaking wet shirt, and was fairly sure this would be his immediate future if it started raining now.
"Not yet," he said quietly, shielding his eye from the sun with one big hand. It wasn't quite a prayer, certainly not a plea. Just a thing he said.
Quite by chance, at the same moment, the clouds rumbled with frustration, but no rain fell.
James smiled, satisfied, and resumed his walk.