Bundled in heavily padded winter coats, large boots slipped over their leather shoes, thick scarves, helmets, sunglasses, and puffy gloves, the lakeside wind punches Jonah and Sandy in their handsome faces. It slashes at their exposed cheeks and ears, burning and searing their flesh. A prickling and howling echo rolls along Ross Street, winding through Channing, this way, that way, continuously, haunting the holiday like scathing spirits.
Jonah and Sandy look down at the Polaris snowmobile parked next to the snow-covered Christmas tree in the Icicles’ front yard. Sandy yells through his cotton scarf and badgering wind, “Did you ever ride one of these things, let alone start one?”
Jonah shakes his head. “Hell no!”
“So neither of us know what we’re doing?”
Jonah nods. “Sounds about right
