The park bench was cold and hard against him. The chill seeped through his woolen coat and the layers of clothes underneath and leeched deep inside him. His body was tense, too tense even to shiver. The wool itched him on the few spots it touched his bare skin: his neck, the spots on his wrists that his gloves were too short to cover.
The bench was by the side of a blacktopped path which led through a sparsely wooded area. The bank of a frozen lake lay on the opposite side of the path, visible through an opening in the trees . The lake stretched away into the foggy distance. A small, tree-covered island lay near the center of the lake, and a few lonely seagulls sat on the surface of the ice nearby.