I can feel the cold creeping up my arms, pricking at my skin and making all the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The smoke from my breath wafts into the air like dust being swept off the sidewalk. My legs tremble, and I hug myself so tightly that if anyone were between my arms, they would have fainted long ago. The street is silent. Not a sound, not a soul in sight. I can't recognize myself; I have no idea where I am. The lights in all the houses are switched off, and the cars are neatly parked in their snow-covered driveways. The old streetlights are the only things guiding me; without them, I would be lost, out here, alone and cold. But there's something about those faint lights that makes me feel safer, almost as if someone is watching over me. The gentle breeze cuts through my well-worn leather jacket, and the snow falls gently, settling softly on top of my hair. I don't need a mirror to know that my nose and cheeks are red. "You always get so red on your nose" he says, pointing to my nose while chuckling. "Here, take my jacket." He drapes his oversized, fur-lined leather jacket over my shoulders, wrapping it snugly around me, and I can feel the warmth returning. He inherited the jacket from his father and always lets me borrow it when I'm cold. Without him, I don't know where I'd be.
