“Hi,” I greeted him, but got no answer while he handed me the cardboard pizza box out of that giant winter coat thing they deliver them in now.

I reached into my jean pocket to pay the kid and found nothing. Realized I had left my money in my purse on the kitchen counter.

“Sorry, hold on a second,” I apologized and watched a snow drift ride the wind behind the kid and smack against the back of his naked neck. “I just have to get my money out of the kitchen. You can come in and close the door for a minute.”

I scurried back to the kitchen, sadly a little bit comforted by the 119-pound 17-year-old kid standing inside the door with a small pizza taking up his hands.

I collected the $10 I needed for the pizza and the tip (at least I liked small town prices) and rushed back to the foyer to the find the door wide open, my pizza resting just inside the door on the floor and little flecks of snow drifting in.

Off in the distance, I heard the faint sound of a car driving off, just a little bit over the sound of the wind. I was alone again.

What happened that the kid was so freaked out he didn’t even stick around to collect the money for the pizza?