He pulled back on the latch and let the glove box fall halfway open before slamming it shut. He repeated this process over and over for the next hour or so. He never once looked inside. He could feel the gun in his hands even though it lay flat on the other side of the rubber and metal. He cradled it in his hands and it slid a bit amidst the perspiration from his palms and fingers. Eyes closed, he rubbed his hands back and forth on his knee just to make sure. He had to be in control. There couldn’t be any mistakes. Condensation surrounded him on all sides. Visibility did not extend outside the car. He inhaled the frigid air trapped inside and slowly exhaled a foggy breath. He traced a smile on the glass that slowly bled beaded droplets from the mouth and gave the latch one last tug. He grabbed for it and held it tightly. He stepped outside and his boots crunched in the snow.