I huddle into the bench at the bus stop. I can’t stop shivering. Need to get a heavier coat. Slow moving cars slip and slide just in front of me. The snow is blowing right at me, prickling my face and steaming up my glasses. My nose starts to run. I have to wipe it with my mitten. My fingers feel frozen. Where is that bus, anyway?
I look down the street to see if the bus is coming. But it’s snowing so hard I can’t see far. The white stuff just keeps piling up. A handful of people on the sidewalk near me walk bent over, faces down, as they trod against the force of the storm. A cluster of boys are throwing snow balls at each other, and then at the cars. That looks dangerous. Where are the police when you need them?
From the window of his fifth floor office, a man sees large snowflakes swirling in circles. He looks down on slow moving cars with snow -piled roofs. The cars slip and slide in the slush. Two men help push a car stuck in the middle of the street. The steeple across the way is dressed in a white fluffy cloak.
When he strains to look further, he can just about make out a figure in a red coat sitting on the bench at the bus stop.
It feels like Christmas.
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