Inside my running shoes I was making little fists with my toes, trying to bundle any remaining heat. One of them cracked. It might have shattered and come off completely; I was too numb to know for sure. I wanted to cry, but tears would have frozen instantly too.
I watched each breath dissolve like a sour daydream into the frozen sky as I squirmed around, waiting for a customer. Not a single car yet tonight. Monday. Usually I have at least one by now.
On my way to work tonight, I stopped at Walgreens and bought a crappy radio for a couple of dollars. It hissed and argued with every turn of the knob, but eventually I coaxed it to stick on WBEZ. I listened to the news and turned south toward Ohio to look at the Sears Tower. It never looks very tall from here.
“Pretty good, man. What’re you reading tonight?” he said, getting out.
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“Yeah. Lenny.”
The restaurant’s manager was standing behind him watching too. “No change” is her well-worn greeting for me. She refuses to give me change for my customers who seconds before were her customers. The owners of the valet company won’t leave me change for our clientele, so every time someone hands me a bill I can’t break I have to sprint to the corner store two blocks away. They won’t make change either, so I buy coffee while the customer waits.
“Yeah.”
