• I blow out a puff of hot air, my hands chafing on the insides of my tattered mittens. They were chock full of so many holes that the only protection was the flimsy layer of cotton lining on the inside.

    It was cold outside, and when I say cold, I mean cold. Long sharp icicles line gutters on small suburban houses, plummeting down and staking the ground when the weight becomes too much to handle and gravity takes it's toll. I kick the snow bank and wince as the tips of my toes throb from the impact between my worn boots and rock hard ice. I sigh. Slumping on a nearby telephone pole, I pull my scarf from it's exploration of the crevices in my jacket and wrap the tacky fabric around my chin, seeking warmth.

    This is life, I guess.