Arianna

Noticed at 4:40 pm

I'm walking up the hill(s) from Harder back to my apartment. I'm bundled and warm, but there's hair in my mouth, and if I swipe it away, my gloves will add a static tickle to the walk up. So, tasting hair. My tongue divides the small chunk into individual stands and I count five, no six?Later gasoline smell from a car that hasn't been used since the cold snap fills my mouth. It's only familiar because my own car belched the same noxious fumes earlier in the day.

Smelling nothing. It's too cold to smell.

Seeing the salt-stained sidewalks. Intricate patterns scatter like veins over the bricks; I even stop once to follow a line or two but lose them quickly to the mêlée.

Coughing cold. Feeling cold. There must be a crack between the end of my glove and the beginning of my coat; with each opposite step my wrists get a breeze of cold air. I dig them deeper into the already shallow pockets, making them seem even more pathetic. My pants have frozen in mildly odd forms - not conducive to walking quickly or up a hill or both.

Hearing only the music through my enormous headphones, which are placed precariously over my hat. I guess I've adapted well to winter.