Thawing Out
December, 1975
The lifts have been closed for an hour, the last few stragglers chased off the mountain by a sympathetic ski patrol. After stashing your equipment, you make your way to the lodge bar, unbuckled boots clunking on the stairs. Collapsing onto a sofa near the fireplace, you set about roasting your body to the proper degree of tenderness. Outside, the snow turns purple in the dying light. A girl from your morning ski class takes the middle third of the sofa and asks if you would like to warm your coc...
