Holding hot coffee in 7 degree winter.
When I step outside the fingers holding the to-go cup buzz violently. The swarm of bees that sleep in my fingers have all been startled awake. In a high school science class I learned that this is the buzz of a thousand little capillaries bursting open all at once and over and over. It is not a comforting thought. I try moving my fingers a little to blur the sensation. It makes me squeamish. It makes my legs hurt like ghosts.
