I stood, the cold wind cutting straight through my yellow wool coat, waiting for my order to be ready. It was 4:55 on a Saturday, sky already dark, temperature low even for December.

I ordered something with noodles-- Singapore something. Rubbing my hands, hoping the friction would somehow bring me warmth, I wondered why I didn’t put on any socks. My stupidity really surprises me sometimes.
I stood, my back to the food cart window, six dollars lighter than a couple minutes ago when I’d ordered my noodles. Oh, how I want those noodles. Still rubbing my hands together, my breath turns to white smoke that steadily encircles me.

There are some children playing in front of me. The stringed lights reflecting festivity on the windows of cars. You’d expect a food cart to be deserted this time of year, but there they are: several dozen families all huddling behind closed car windows, their heaters going full blast.

There there I stood. 4:55 on Saturday on the corner of Flavel and god knows what street, all alone waiting for an order of noodles I wasn’t sure I wanted anymore.

The kids i front of me laughed and ran in circles. I remembered a time when I was like those kids: small, innocent, just running in circles and laughing. I don’t think there are rules to their game. Touch one person, touch the wall; don’t touch the wall in time and you lose. Or is it simply running? Running because you could.
I laugh to myself. Since when did I begin to look for the rules in everything?

A little girl shrieks and then bursts into laughter. She wears a bright pink coat, small tan boots and a matching hat. Another girl tags her then runs to the wall. She wears jeans and t-shirt. I wonder if she is cold; as cold as I am. But she just keeps running-- running and laughing.

A man comes out of a car. Small Asian man. He talks to the eldest of the kids; a boy. The boy doesn’t look a day over nine.

I turn my back to see if my food is ready. I decide I do want noodles after all.