This Is Why You Should Turn Up The Heat

My toes throb. The chill seeps through bricks where the coffee house wall stretches past my elbow. Frost climbs the big windows in front, and the life has left my coffee mug. Should have chosen decaff, the tremor in my pinky finger insists. Hoping to write a poem, but feeling doubtful, I glance around the room. A girl sitting at the counter still wears her coat--navy with a ruff of fir around the hood. The establishment must be trying to save on the heat bill (drat, another "to be" verb!). This chill seems opposed to poetry, more suited to editing.