I didn't smoke, but as I sat out in the cold, all I could think was that I really, really needed a cigarette.

I needed a shower, a cigarette and perhaps even a fucking priest.

I needed . . . I needed to clear my mind. The cold helped. It attacked me, sweeping over me like a thousand needle-like teeth that rode the wind's back. They assaulted my cheeks like sharks that were lost to a blood frenzy. They stung, begging to be let back into the warmth.

I refused. My ass remained seated on the small patio chair that was mostly dry, as it had been kept beneath the...