Weird Night (Anyone)

Arnold leans against the wall outside the Grindhouse, hands in pockets of a patchy overcoat, moldy brown fedora on his head. It had been a couple hours since the feeling came down. It had felt like he'd been dropped a hundred feet into a pool of ice water. The kind of eerie unease that made you want to dig a hole and bury yourself. Thinking about it, he pulls his coat tighter, popping up the collar to shield himself from a chill that didn't come from the night air.

He'd decided to go out into town, despite a nagging urge to hide away, mainly out of a sense of curiosity and bravado. If the end was nigh, he wanted to be there to see it, but so far it was just seeming like any other night in Sacramento to him.