Waiting outside of an abortion clinic.

He sat in the car. It wasn't running. His hands, folded, were squeezed in between his thighs. His fingertips were cold. He wore a beanie. It sat low on his neck and it covered his ears.

Outside the snow fell softly. As time passed it began to cover the hood and build up along the bottoms of the windows. His breath was deep and slow. When exhaling he would watch his breath slowly fog up the windshield. He tapped his feet and moved his legs up and down rapidly. Maybe for warmth. Maybe for something else.

He stared at the tops of his knees. He stared at the store signs across the street. He stared at the church sign that read, " Got Jesus? Pot luck dinner 6:00pm."

It was time to start the car.