The wind shuttered the brown laden man as he walked around the corner block. Snow gusted off of rooftops and whistled off into the sky. Cold again, he thought, as he lowered his head into the wind. It would not be a pleasant walk home, he knew.
The fight so far has been a battle. As he crossed street after street, the wind seemed more and more intense as it was funneled into this concrete jungle. He passed on, counting the crack in the sidewalk as he walked over them. As he got to the curb, he slowed down and looked left. The wind made everything a blur. Suddenly a metal scream shouted at him, knocking him into a hardened snow pile. A street sign leaned over where the car had smashed it. The driver, face in steering wheel. Brown matted hair mixed with blood hung over, seen through the puzzle cracks in the windshield.
God, he thought.
Broken glass surrounded the incident. He had never seen a dead man before. He turned and ran from this winter curse, taking out his flip phone as he went. Shame could not cover this, and forgiveness didn’t follow as he fled. He dialed the emergency number.