Turning A Skirt Into A Address What Do You Think Of This?

What do you think of this? - turning a skirt into a address

The day I went into the streets of Silk, a wind friction, the temperature kept low and the sun could move outdoor thermometers more than a few degrees above zero. Tiles of ice on the coast and hinterland formed, thrown together houses on Monarch Street groaned as puppies. Channel glittering ice, and then disappear into the shadows of the afternoon, so that undermine sidewalks along only a smooth-rolling, and even less with little lag. He should have lowered his head and closed his eyes to the openings at the time, but because he is a stranger, she saw with her eyes open in every house, searching the address corresponded to advertising: a monarch Street. Finally, he was a track where Sandler Gibbons was in the garage door, tore the seam of a bag of ice-off. He remembers the crack my heels on concrete as he approached, the angle of the hip, as he SO bowler behind her, in light of the garage before. He recalls the pleasure of her voice when she asked for directions to the house of the woman he has known all his life.

"Are you sure?" He asked when he had said in the address.

She took a sheet of paper from a jacket pocket, held with the fingers without gloves, then it is checked, then nodded.

Sandler Gibbons swept his legs and telling her knees and thighs were bitten by the hem of his little cold s. Then he sat wondering at the height of the heel, shortening his leather jacket. She had originally thought was a hat, something big and fluffy ears and neck to keep warm. Then he realized he had diverted any hair - blow forward by the wind to be from his face. It looked like a sweet child, fine boned, slightly elevated, but lost.