Moose fell into the single file line that cut through snow, close enough to where the sidewalk must be buried. A couple of feet fell during the night, and the day wasn’t shaping up any better. Hell of a good time to run out of coffee and cigarettes, Moose thought as he trudged along.
It was slow going.
He tried to move around the others, got halfway up the snowbank, slid down, cursing and wishing he’d worn heavier socks. The damned store was only three blocks away, but it felt like he was being led up the world by Hillary.