I stand at the corner. The man flashes red. The low dull rays of the winter sun do little to warm my face against the stinging winds. I'm bombarded with crystalized water. Every swirling seige impales my face. Cars zoom by, their cargo protected from the chill for the time being. Delivery boys on their scooters cut through the traffic, but the cold cuts through them.
I stand at the corner. The man still flashes red. The mighty sun has lost this battle. It can not excite the atoms. The frigid grip of old man winter has slowed time itself. Pain is emanated from the creeking and screeching of every turning vehicle. Their brake pads sound brittle and controted. Buses lumber along like aging old men.
Red lights never use to be so cold when you were standing next to me. Your body pressed against mine did what the sun tried in vain. As much as I may have wanted time to stand still... as tight as winter squeezed... we couldn't stop the red man from flashing green.