9am, 25 degrees, 8:15 minute mile pace. Neon pink gloves, shivering lungs, chapped lips, train tracks, techno-pop on the Ipod. Red lights, frozen puddles, cracked sidewalks, clouds of hot breath caught up in a mop of brittle brown hair. We found love in a hopeless place.
When do we ever find love in anything but a hopeless place?