this falls under an umbrella of influence assembled by Jean Rhys.

Something is definitely wrong here. I know this because every time I exhale, a pale mist crystallizes in front of me, rolling gently forward from my blue parted lips. It curls up my pale cheeks and tousles itself around my nostrils, before gently spreading to nothingness in front of my eyes. I’m so cold that I have to wear a heavy black coat and fingerless gloves; the gloves in particular are doing nothing for me – what use is a warm palm if my fingers are frozen stiff? The root of this problem can be traced back to me not paying my gas bills. It was food or heating, it was a tough choice. Ironically, the only reason I’m even sat here in my room is because I was fired and sent home from work yesterday. I think it was yesterday.

It’s only the opening paragraph. I’m going to see where i can take it.