The first thing I remember about that morning was the cold.
Not ordinary winter cold.
Chicago cold.
The kind that turns every breath sharp and makes the bones in your hands ache before you even realize you have clenched them.
I crossed the sidewalk in front of Liberty Union Bank with my Army coat buttoned to my throat, one hand wrapped around the strap of my duffel, the other buried deep in my pocket around a debit card I had not used in five years.
The card felt warmer than it should have.
Maybe because I had been holding it too tightly.
Maybe because some insults never cool off.
The lobby doors slid open, and warm air hit my face with the stale comfort of coffee, carpet cleaner, and paper money.
Inside, everything was quiet.
Polished stone floors.
