Damn ice cubes! Fran cursed for the first thousand times in his heart, carrying a plate full of large glasses through the narrow aisle, walking towards the table near the window. The light blue Kemal was swaying in the glass. Several big guys, who were also light blue, were gathering around the table, talking with a squeaking sound like boots stepping through the snow. The screaming cold wind squeezing with sparse and tiny snowflakes rushed in from the open window. She was fighting a cold war in the wind, and putting the glass on the table in panic: Sir, your wine, a total of six, do you need anything else?