IT WAS A COLD DAY IN JANUARY—the sun didn't so much shine as glint off the heavy red brick buildings we passed on our way to the market. A hard frost had glazed the concrete sidewalk as I pushed my bundled daughter in her stroller into the wind. Always, it seemed, we were heading into the wind. Everyone we passed shivered and huddled in their parkas and heavy coats. The day was laced with frost and the biting wind that comes off the river that time of the year, so that we all bent forward a bit as we walked, headed on the straightest, most direct path toward our various destinations.
I needed fruit. Fruit and milk, and maybe bread—the basics. I'd made a list before leaving the house so as to be most efficient and spend the least amount of time out in the cold.
We passed lots of people, but none looked our way—we all understood our sense of mission, and even a nod was a defection from purpose. The concrete glittered, the breath steamed from my mouth.
