I'm sitting in my tried and true little neighborhood coffeeshop, Fido, at the coveted table by the outlets. The right leg elevated and resting on a chair to give my injured knee a bit of a reprieve from a day's worth of pounding the pavement and climbing stairs.
It's cold, so cold in here. I'm wondering if the guys in the kitchen are walking around in their skivvies, cranking up the AC so they won't succumb to the heat. You know what they say: "If you can't stand the heat... turn up the AC."
But, as cold as I am, as blue as my fingers and toes are turning and as red as my nose must be, I'd rather sit here in this arctic tundra than go home to a dark apartment and watch more movies.
It's funny, Frank Sinatra was playing on the speakers a short while ago... Crooning some nonsense about how love will keep you warm. Somehow, sitting here in the cold, ill-prepared for an indoor winterfest, I'm highly doubting any amount of lovey-doviness will keep me from hypothermia's doorstep.
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