SOUP

In the Walgreen's at the end of the street there is soup and in the soup there is energy which you need to walk through the snow (a very long time) to the Walgreen's at the end of the street.

If you could go through the snow, if you have boots sturdy enough to plow through the unplowed streets, and keep you upright, as if their uppers shot like armor to your hips or oxters, you could get soup, you could get that energy if you had the energy to go and the energy to pay. 

The energy you eat is called soup.  The energy to pay for soup is called money. 

The feeling when you walk through snow toward the end of the street goes on a very long time.  There is silence in all the houses and you can't quite believe the Walgreens will be lit by round bushes of light and that there will be people compact as skittles in there and that you have the energy to walk through snow and boots and the energy of money to pay for soup that would give you energy to walk through the snow the next time to the Walgreen's at the end of the street for soup.

It takes a very long time to walk through the snow.

You walk in the middle of the street between the gauntlet of snow banks piled up and beneath you another fluffy gauntlet like a comforter.  You can no longer call the street a street.  It is a sheet.  You are an ant crawling across a sheet cake.

No-one hears you as you walk that very long short way. 

No-one hears you as you stand at the window to look outside feeling the cold's seep, no longer remembering the nights of looking silently for a long time at the bead of light that is a plane traveling across the sky or the pleasant mornings in the bus-shelter on the main street watching the world lurch by.