Dink, with Umbrella

It's barely raining, hardly even drizzling.  One could describe it as a mild mist and maintain dictionary accuracy.

The city core supports high-density pedestrianism.  And it's lunch hour.

So, based on this list of circumstances...

Put your motherfucking umbrella away, pussy!  You don't need it, and it's only twirling about pointlessly, threatening every eyeball that comes near one of its jutting ribs.  The wind pushes against the nylon and whips it to and fro, but you're too busy blathering on the phone, asking your wife if the delivery people installed the new Sub-Zero freezer.

You sir, are a dink.  And your tie is ugly.