cold winter warmer

His name is Terrence. He stands under the dripping canopy of a coffee cart outside the Metro station in Paris, idly comparing it to the coffee carts in his home city of Bath in the UK. His thoughts keep retracting, like his numbing extremities, so it feels like an effort of concentration when it gets to his turn to choose a beverage. Before the gap between Terrence and the Parisian coffee vendor is completely closed, and he has to make that difficult selection, his shrivelling mind does an odd thing. It flashes an intention toward some kind of non-descript violence. Terrence attempts to wave it away, and turns his head to find something to glance at, but it's no good. As always, the denial seems to focus his thoughts only more sharply on the violent thought, and in doing so, the thoughts begin to take shape. He sees himself lurching over the counter to grab the teenage sales-boy by the apron and drag him closer. He imagines the boy's startled reaction. He thinks of growling in the lad's face, possibly frothing as he does so. Spitting occurs to him.
He glances back at the boy and tries to feel something friendly, but this immediately becomes corrupted by the violent desire in his blood-stream, and he starts to picture himself grabbing the poor kid by the testicles and biting chunks out of his neck.
Then the queue is gone, and Terrence steps forward to approach the counter.