Climbing into the warm car was a welcome respite. My boots were caked in snow and ice, and my toes were still numb, but the exposed parts of me were warming up. I trembled under my down jacket as the heat poured in from concealed vents all around the rear of the car.
The driver never spoke to me again. He deftly navigated the car through New York City traffic. As we drove past Central Park, I couldn't help but sigh as I looked out over the snowy expanse. Just when I thought I was done with the city, something amazing drew me in when I least expected it.
I'd anticipated that the vehicle would drive me someplace, somewhere, to change. The driver instead parked in front of St. Paul's Chapel. I gasped when I discovered Mitchell's funeral was taking place inside. I felt strange lugging my bag
