ByDoug Smeath

Summer is over.

The outside seating near the Hub at the Taggart Student Center is relatively empty. Most of the people here have their hands shoved deep in their pockets as they and their Old Navy fleece rush to the building and the warmth.

There are a few students sitting at the tables. Their cigarettes fill the air with the artificially warm smell of smoke. They are clutching their Ibis coffees, desperately attempting to steal some warmth for their hands.

"How ya doin'?" a student asks a sweatered female he passes.

"Good," she responds, her right ear tucked to her shoulder, exposing the left to the elements. "I've got my hot chocolate. It's all good." She switches ears.

Now the sun's morning rays start to peek over the Eccles Building. They tease us with the hints of their warmth. But their cruel contrast to the bitter air only makes the cold colder.

"I thought the sun was supposed to make you warm," a nearby student says between drags on his cigarette.

His friend arches her back, stretches her neck, shoves her hands between her knees. "Not in Logan," she yawns.

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