>>
No. 920181 He
had hardly noticed the two men as they passed. To him, they were but
extras in the larger scheme of his life. Probably talking about their
sexual conquests. Nothing worth him noting. He let them go without a
further thought, as his mind was momentarily focused on things
infinitely more important; namely, the weather. Partially because of
his now completely threadbare coat, the weather seemed unseasonably
cold for this time of the year. There were even several small flakes of
sleet that had begun to sporadically blot the pavement, which was
unusual for late March. But it was the wind that made it the type of
cold that stayed with you, penetrating your clothing with ease and
lodging itself deep within the most secluded parts of your mind. The
parts one tries to keep covered. Even in the dead of winter, there were
some days that seemed colder than others, and it reminded him of an
adage his father used to say; he used to tell him that there was a
coldest day in every year. It seemed simple and logical enough, but he
never received any other explanation from it. His father was always
looked the same when he said it. He would be watching TV or, more
often, reading the newspaper, and suddenly he would lower the
newspaper, take off his glasses, clean them with the bottom of his
shirt, stare off into the middle-distance, and say that there was a
coldest day in every year. He could see him quite clearly saying it and
he remembered that it always seemed as if his father was very far away
when he said it. It was something in his eyes. They seemed to be
looking at something another time that had either happened long ago or
hadn’t quite happened yet, something that was troubling or comforting,
or perhaps a little of both. This seemed like that kind of day. 
