The sun dipped below the horizon from the Slope when the last bout of laughter from my friends faded into appreciative silence. “Should we go?” my friend asked, settling her gaze on me — the person who consistently offers the most resistance to departing a sunset viewing. The dimming collage of pink, purple and orange not warranting a struggle, I stood and relented. I respected my friend’s desires, but not because the view was any less beautiful: Staying would entail my friend physically shaking through her discomfort. She wanted to leave not because of how the sunset looked, but because of how it was starting to make her feel: cold.