The winter's second snow was mostly sleet, bounced when it hit the windshield, made him think twice about climbing out of the cab and crossing the slickening lot to the bookstore café, despite the invitation of coffee steam and companionship. He’d lost the tarp twice in the high wind on the way to the landfill, and seriously jammed his thumb while unloading the small mountain of detritus and dusty, disused whatnot that had been slowly stealing his parking space in the otherwise roomy garage. He badly needed the company and coffee to make things right; could see his usual Saturday morning companions through the window, arranged around their pushed-together tables, no doubt swapping tales of previous snow and sleet, no doubt recasting them as far worse than the current maelstrom. He needed to share his own stories, but decided his buddies would have to do without them today; opted instead for an even softer audience. She had coffee waiting when he got there. Neither one of them mentioned the weather.