I parked the car, sigh, and get out.

Before my ass is off the seat, all the precious heat blows out,

and the cold wax my face like a sledgehammer.

It's the kind of cold that you can feel through your pants.

My eyeballs are cold.

I hate this city about as much as it hates me. I shut the door behind me and adjust my gloves and scarf while I take to the sidewalk.

I look around. There's no one.

The chill holds a knife to the neck of anyone who thinks they might want to go outside today.

And this isn't exactly a residential part of town. So I take out my gun

and make double sure it's loaded. This is maybe the fourth time I checked it since I left the house.

Paranoid. Don't know why I'm so jumpy. This isn't even the first time I've met this guy.

I start down the sidewalk because if I stand still, I'll turn into the world's most disappointing popsicle.

A block and a half down, past a grove of parking meters and along a river of dead leaves and trash.

I spy a familiar jumble of stuff by an old shopping cart.

The cart's full of who knows what, weighed down and covered up.

Right past it, into the mouth of a little alley, there's a propped-up bundle of old tent

holes and a tarp.

I stop.

I get a peek inside once I approach.

It's an old guy. Has to be in his 60s at least.

Long, gray beard.

Smells about like you'd expect.

...