Frozen Toes

Today the weather in Kirksville is at a low, only reminding me of another day from this last break, when the official temperature laid at negative six degress. That was the high. Most people would've stayed indoors, camped out on the couch with a blanket, or five. But I was walking, even more like shuddering my way down around Lincoln Park, wearing a skirt, in negative six degrees.
Charlie and I were searching for a street in this cold, after catching a well-timed transfer we had just gotten off at the Fullerton stop. Sitting in the car, filled with a whistling window and screaming children, we were tempted to stay but still we hopped from car to platform to sidewalk. We're not really a couple to talk about the weather, so we were probably making hateful remarks about anyone wearing earmuffs. We were over half way there, we had hoped. We were not sure which way from the station was the correct way, one of those three street meetings that never really seemed logical to me. Or Charlie, as we found out, so we ducked into a small chicken and ribs joint, Wilco posters hanging on the wall with a crew of prototypical male fronted greasy spoon.
Charlie had wet feet, my epidermis was running low with flushed cheeks but we still had two blocks. And no money to buy anything and stay in the warm confines of the store front. So out into the quickly disappearing sun we went.