The inventory of what was inside the cabin of my car started to run in my head. A handful of rusted pennies, a box of Kleenex and a broken iPod was about all I could think of. My mind tripped back to me complaining about my mom’s car (which was always filled with crap) and lamenting when she would always quip back about how you never know when you are going to need the random crap which was strewn about her vehicle. My clean, sparse nature was somehow going to come back and fatally bite me in the ass. There was not a single thing in my car which would help keep me warm.

My cell phone. How could I forget? I reached into my pocket to pull out my iPhone and my heart dropped when I felt nothing in my pocket. It must have fallen out of my extremely loose pocket when I fell to the ground. Fuck.

Then it flashed in my brain. The trunk! My father had given me one of those roadside, emergency kits almost every year for Christmas for like four years running before he died, and I was pretty sure I kept one in my trunk. At least I hoped I did.

The easy answer would have been that the backseat of my Civic used to recline directly into the trunk, but a wonderful, ex-boyfriend scratched that option off the list by being too rough with the mechanism on a camping trip. The thing hadn’t worked since. Oh the memories.