Still Cold

I am freezing. My toes and fingers go first. When the thermometer drops to where I can't even turn on the electric stove for the numbness of my hands, I have to leave the flat. I didn't think it would be as cold here as back home, but the wind blowing off the lake gives me chills. 

I can't clasp Jojo's leash, and we finally descend the stairs to the street without it. It's late and the clouds leftover from the heavy snow transform the moon's glow into an opaque shadow. The only light on Rouse pours around the corner from the picture window of the bar. I walk faster, trying to regain the feeling in my extremities, and Jojo trots to keep up. 

We pass the bus stop, but a crumpled figure captures my attention. I apprehensively take a step towards the thing hunched against the bent sign. Jojo bounds forward, barking. I'm afraid he'll disturb the whole neighborhood, and I call for him to stop. The figure stirs as if my shouts have startled it, but Jojo's incessant licks don't seem to phase the figure, which I now notice is a man much taller than I. We awkwardly make eye contact as I stumble backwards, regretting taking a walk this evening. As I half walk, half jog to the back of the laundromat and my frozen fingers fumble at the deadbolt and double lock, I am not so sure I should have avoided the man. I glance over my shoulder to where he sat, now a beckoning patch of sidewalk that could have meant a break in my monotonous routine. I haven't talked to anyone in four days now besides Jojo. And I'm freezing.