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"Can I help you?" a pale workman called out, raising his voice over the many machines that blew cold air around his storefront.

I enjoyed the brisk chill. Steam rose from my arms, evaporating my sweat. "I need a new AC," I shouted back, examining different models while a portable unit blew air up my shorts.

Mr. Frosty glided toward me. We shook hands, and his cold fingers crunched in my grip, like wet snow.

He grinned, purple lips crackling: "Can I interest you in a trade?"

I turned to run, but my feet were frozen to the icy floor.

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