The air was such a bitter cold that day. It was just me and him; we’d stare into silence. It was the kind of silence that was almost paralyzing. Some days I’d stand there and watch him out of the corner of my eye; he always looked so nonchalant, as if he were miles away from reality.
“Want to grab a cup of coffee?” he asked.
I shrugged. I kind of liked the cold air; it was intoxicating.
We stood there a little longer,
“Tell me, what do you believe in?” he said, artlessly.
“I don’t believe in much of anything. You know, I just see what’s straight ahead,” I answer simply, thinking that I can’t remember when I stopped believing, or why.