At the door stands a red-cheeked man outfitted in every piece of winter attire imaginable: hat, scarf, coat. Both hands have been thrust into their respective pockets, but it's a safe bet they're in mittens too. “Oh, you're home,” he breathes when the door inches open, unguarded relief flooding his face, “thank—goodness.”

After a second or so he regains his composure, stepping back to gesture (he is indeed wearing mittens) in the general direction of his house. “I live up the street. My power's out, and I'm...sorry to do this, but would you mind if I came in? Just til I can feel my toes again.”