A Different Kind of Cold

I can deal with the frozen ice world of Halifax. In fact, I'm kind of over talking about it - some of these sunny afternoons, walking in the street in lieu of snowbanked sidewalks has given us a strange comedic solidarity with one another. But this is a different kind of bitterness: in January, my winter jacket (brand new for Christmas) was stolen from a local hostel/bar during a dance party. In the pockets, only the essential things for winter but not needed on the dance floor: hand-knit mittens, my favourite scarf, cards that cost me nearly $150 to replace, my third phone this year (the others being stolen or lost), twenty bucks and some other small, worthless things that were precious to me. And also my identification. I can't seem to let this theft go. I feel like I've been invaded. Okay, take the phone and the cash from my pockets. Even the pretty Rhodochrosite that I've been hoping to find abandoned on the North End streets ever since. Take my mittens if you're cold. But I'm a broke artist - don't leave a person in the cold without a coat. I'm grateful to some kind strangers who drove me home in that -20 degree night, and the friend who found me a donated jacket to get me through the winter. I just wish the selfish person who left a big, ugly stain on an otherwise incredible night would do the right thing and return them. —Nightcall Bittercold

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