“What’s the temperature?” shouted Marvin, his cane holding him steady against the car’s lurches, his empty eyes affixed to the doors.
Nobody answered. “Just because he’s blind doesn’t mean he can’t feel,” they thought. Or at least that’s what Marvin thought they thought. Marvin had heard of blind people whose other senses became stronger thanks to the loss of sight. Just the opposite happened to him. He was hard of hearing. Foods all smelled and tasted the same—bland, like everything was made of white bread—and his skin was far less sensitive. He could barely feel the biting Chicago breeze on his cheeks, even on the windiest days. It was as though he had some sort of disease which deteriorated every aspect of the human body that made life enjoyable. A five-senses-deficiency.
Finally, from somewhere to Marvin’s right: “In the thirties.”
“What was that?”
“I said THIRTY DEGREES.”
Then, from far on his left: “IT’S SUPPOSED TO SNOW TONIGHT. FOUR TO SIX INCHES.” Several passengers groaned.
I am so tired. Had to get up way earlier this morning because the Purple Line isn't running due to the Wells Street Bridge construction. Evil CTA. Evil.
In other news, I am very sick of cold weather. Fix it please now, universe.