The cold numbs me to the bone. Shivers run up and down my spine, all the way up to my teeth that chatter at a rapid pace. I rub my goose bump ridden arms, wishing I had something other than a thin black T-Shirt and jeans. A variety of cheeses, yogurt, and other parishables line the walls. I brace myself against the frosty breeze, and forge forward to obtain a bag of shredded mozarella cheese. I reach out with my frail hand to grasp the thick plastic and pull it down from its metal rod perch. I drop it into my cart, crashing down beside the milk, tortilla chips, black beans, and ice cream drumsticks. My cart is cold to the touch, but I grip it still. I can almost feel the warm relief of the baked goods section, just past my reach. I shiver as I rest my foot on the metal rail in the bottom front of the cart, and grab the far end of my cart's handle, I grit my teeth against the frostisness of my palms. I prepare to kick off, fearing this is my only means of escaping this place alive. I glide down the isle and feel the warm relief washing over me as I enter the corner for baked bread. I let out a sigh. Finally it is over. No more chills, no more goosebump cold.
Oh shit.
I forgot the cream cheese.
