I am standing in a long line of strangers, outside. It's not hot, so why has ice become a commodity? My name is called and a boy comes to collect my three dollars. I fumble for it, feeling nervous about the man watching. He can see I have more money. I know he will do something and I want to get away before it starts. It does not occur to me that this is selfish.

He scoops up the boy and whispers in his ear that it's only a game. The boy is uncomfortable but does what he is told, does not struggle to get away. I realize that the boy is a hostage, that this man is desperate and crazy. He looks at me and reaches for me and I back away. He steps closer but I know he cannot run holding the boy and I know he will not put the boy down and I take off, holding the bag of ice against my chest as if it were a baby, freezing my breasts and drenching my shirt, numbing me.