After an uneventful night of babysitting in the East Village, I trekked back to Brooklyn through what felt like the arctic tundra. Even waiting on the train out of the frigid night air it was still obnoxiously cold. I have never inhabited a place where having any skin exposed hurts upon immediately exiting whatever building I am in. I suppose the temperatures, although not as cold as some parts of the country, feel much worse here due to the amount of time we spend outside walking to and from the subway and waiting on the bus. Or it could be the tall buildings acting as wind tunnels. Or, it might be that this is my first real winter. Whatever the reason, it is cold. And I don't think I'm a fan.
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