It was a cold night, and you were walking along an icy path. It was snowing a lot too. You stop in your tracks and see a tall, lanky man in a parka and beanie sitting on a lone swing a distance away from you, reciting a poem.

The man snaps his head over to you, his glasses reflecting in the moonlight. He looks like he had some frostbite, his ears, nose, and fingers an angry red.

"Hello." The man whispers in a quiet, scratchy voice. You could feel his nervousness from where you stood.