...the winter is waiting outside your front door, summons in hand. You don't realise this at first. You peep out and see what looks like a normal enough day, a bit shabby perhaps, but nothing to be afraid of. Then you step out of your building and he lets you get three steps from the door before he comes up to you and says "Mr. ____________?" "Yes, that's right." "I have something for you, sir."
And then he hands it to you - the cold you've been dreading, white and crisp and official, like paper. And you wish you'd never left your house today, you wish you'd hidden away in your house, under a quilt or a pile of old clothes, but it's too late for that now, too late, and he would have got you eventually anyway, how long were you going to stay locked up in your apartment and he's off already, no doubt to find his next victim (yes, yes, you know it's his job - but a victim is what you feel like) while you stand on the sidewalk, feeling all the warmth seep out of you.