Cup of coffee, on a very cold day.

Goddamn. This coffee is terrible. How much did I pay for this? But now it made no difference. The deed was done, transaction final, and he was pretty sure he threw out the receipt. Making matters worse on a Tuesday afternoon, it was the middle of January. In Pittsburgh, Pa. Downtown, in the middle of a light snowfall. Some of the coldest conditions on earth contained at the tip of this miserable, triangular city. Some friends would call it a witch’s tit – the maps always shaped it that way – even though the only witch he knew, Katey, was not known for having a cold chest. Regardless, the coffee was god-awful and bore the scent of dirty rags soaked in beef stew over a butane lighter; it overpowered the cigarette smoke, rendering it down to pretty ghost dancers lasting for a few seconds before violently catching up into the rough air. And it wasn’t like his rusty, old jacket worked properly either. Nothing was good: the cigarette, the coffee, the jacket, his job, or the city. It’s all just a constant fight to stay warm. One more sip and finally, he thinks, I should get moving.