The hands stuffed into your coat pockets finger the scratchy knit of your mittens. You pull one out and huff it. The lanolin tickles something in your brain, like a cotton swab dragged over a cut and held tight. As hard as it's been, it's also been so delightful out here. You'd never thought you'd commit this deeply to something. As much as you were full and there and rooted into the city, this is different. The waft of manure drifts up to you on the wind, calming. The crickets creak up into the auditory foreground, greeting the early evening.