losing betting slip

the radiator died at three in the morning. i stand by the cracked window. it is raining on the street. i pick up the wool coat from the floor. it smells like stale beer and a wet dog. i drag it over my shivering arms. the lining is cold and damp against my skin. my teeth chatter. i button the coat up to the neck. the thick wool doesn't make me warm. it just pulls my shoulders down toward the floorboards. i shove my hands into the pockets. my fingers feel three pennies and a losing betting slip.