There was something cozy about the winter couples in the city. There was a certain unspoken intimacy in the way they walked, gingerly, together, minding each other’s balance, a gentle hand on the elbow, a light grip about the waist. On their way to market, or to church, or to visit family; exiting a car or a bus, they’d start out together and stay together, unlike the summer months when one party or another would linger at store windows or chat with strangers along the way. Winter couples in the city were less distracted by others, more mindful of each other. Their wet woolen coats, fuzzy from wear, developed the effluvia of a single organism; perfume and aftershave overwhelmed by the wet weather. From far away they looked as one, completing the connivance of the climate.
There was something cozy about the winter couples in the city.