Cold feet New Year!

Click-click! Feet are cold.
Classic navy-blue canvas Convers with the white rubber sole.
The left nose is dotted with black spots. Probably from pushing the door open while caring bags of groceries tightly close to the body.
Don't drop it!
The door just opened a few centimeters, enough to sneak the head of the shoe in to stop it from closing. Trying to pull the key out of the door handle lock from an unusual angle.
The air is dry and frosty.
Click-click!
A man flicks his lighter twice to light a cigarette from a second-floor window across the parking lot. He is like clockwork.
Open the door at 6:30am to take the trash out.
Click-click!
Open the door to leave the house.
Click-click.
Come home from a long day's work.
Click-click.
Still trying to weasel my way between the heavy door and the door frame. The hydraulic door support is strong, forcing it to shut on the shoe.
It's year 8. No, maybe 9. I've seemed to have forgotten. The last time I said Happy New Year to click-click man.
He paid me no mind. Even though our eyes met. 
He had his reasons.
Through telepathy I tell him Happy New Year without acknowledging his presence.
Ah, finally in the door. What a task that was.
Shoes off. Feet cold. Grocery bags on the floor.
Remote car key battery dead.
Forgot to lock the car door.
"Really!"
It's a Happy New Year!