Freezing Point

A thick, frosted ice cube was sweating smack in the middle of the stainless steel draining board. It sat there pooling water, slick and stubborn. I stepped up to the rim, planted my boots on the grooved metal, and drove my thumb hard into its flank to pin it against the backsplash. The cold block squirted sideways like greased iron, shooting three inches down the steel channel and leaving a wet streak. I didn't let it run. I cut the angle, clamped both hands around its freezing corners, and took the bite. Braced through the bone-chilling sting until the sharp frost melted down into harmless slush.