Ephemera
"I'm cold," said one of the little boys, drawing the piece of newspaper around himself. It was stiff and tattered, brown, dirty, but it kept the wind off slightly. He sniffled as it tore under his fingers. "I'm cold. 'Member when we was in the elephant? It was warm there."
"That's over now," said the other boy, as another gust of wind shredded his own piece of newspaper and made his fingers cold and clumsy. He was hungry and angry, and he looked at the first boy sideways. "Over."
"Yes," the boy answered, and the wind blew his newspaper away.
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