The snow can't decide whether it's rain or not, and the sidewalks wallow in wet and slippery slush. We walk back from Katie's birthday dinner, she and me, both of us slightly pixelated, huddling beneath the one umbrella, waddling like penguins down Seventh Avenue's treachery towards home.
I can hear the guy behind us trying to figure out whether to pass us or not, his boots stamping impatiently, until the even tramp of his steps shuffles into incoherence as he hits a sneaky patch of ice.
We almost look back, unwilling to abandon a fallen fellow traveler, but the heavy tread of his step resumes without a hitch, and we turn back on our way, until he passes us in the intersection without a glance, eyes locked forward, making his scowling way through the descending frozen rain.
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