Chilly

Sneakers hitting the slushy snow in a hurried fashion...gushing dirty water with every step...I didn't own any rain boots and uttered an awkward and unnatural "fuck" followed by a sigh when my right toes numbed and my left toes began to catch up.
I staved off fatigue, my bookbag hanging on for dear life on my bad shoulder. I grew weary of what was, bleakly, crap weather.

My head jerked up, and I got hit.
Snowflakes really do dance...a flurry of excited ones obnoxiously were sticking to my glasses. They harmlessly rushed to greet me, never realizing how sharply they cut against my face. No scarf served as a shield from being cut alive by the ones carried by the harsh wind.

Who's still out here in this wonderful October snowstorm?
The upper west side of new york is still lively at ten thirty.

I turned and stood sullenly to watch the ditzy yet happy couple who vainly attempted to protect themselves with their entwined arms, making me wonder if they were simply showing off. But I thought nothing of it. I just dislike being alone, that's all.

In the distance, only laughter and corny jokes left the lips of families leaving the building. Tthe aunt tripped and fell on her buttocks.
I chuckled; it was kind of mean to do so.

I passed the Crumbs under construction and neared the health store on the corner. My familiar friends I gave a nod to each morning looked strange covered in a light sheet of snow. It spoke of grey.

Lost in thought, my clumsy feet had found their way to the road and veered to my left. Cars and the ocassional taxi that held drunken Halloween partygoers dressed in their most outrageous costumes (scantily-clad or unique? you decide) roared on the wet road next to me. I jumped a foot back when a speeding car approached me; those sidewalk drenched-by-a-passing-car moments in movies really do happen. I had experienced it firsthand.

I guess I was craving for some thanks or gratitude when I left the building. I echoed goodbyes to Jasmine, her boyfriend, and her almost-empty container of Thai.
I left bouquetless.
Like anybody, I wanted to cradle some cheap yet sentimental flowers from the bodega like it was a precocious toddler. Receiving a card or flowers or even a unison "thank you" made me warm inside. But I didn't need it when I saw this town on a beautiful night and I knew being here and being alive was all the thanks I needed.

The familiar smell of shit and stale hobo hit me- I had entered the 96th st. subway station, a step closer to home. I braced myself for the long commute, tried to curl my unfeeling toes for some temporarily comforting warmth, and prayed to Allah for those new Hunter boots.