Who walks down a Kensington street in shorts in this cold?

You walked down a Kensington street at minus eighteen in shorts and a cap with a very small coffee and the expression of a man who had made a decision. A woman on a bench saluted. A driver honked once, gently, in respect. I was in three layers and a scarf, hurt by my own weakness. You nodded at me like you understood. You did not understand. Nobody understands. I have been wearing shorts under my trousers since, and it has made no difference.