cold on cold

My medium regulah had spilled a bit onto my gloves, so that when I transferred the coffee to my other hand and grabbed a cold handrail along a deserted, poorly salted staircase near the Charles, my left hand stuck for a moment to the freezing metal. Momentary panic: no solid footing, hand stuck like the kid’s tongue to the flagpole in A Christmas Story, and I think, “this is not how I want to start year 29.”

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