But Sometimes It IS Cold

It’s layoff season over here at Acme Shovels, Grommets, and Rope (A Worldwide Octopi Corporation, Pty, LTD, M-O-U-S-E) and the bell?
For whom does she toll?
The bell tolls for Jerry.
A 26-year veteran of these carpeted halls, Jerry got the ol’ corporate heave-ho yesterday. 
I like Jerry.  He once walked blocks out of his way on a bitterly windy January night to ensure I got to the bus stop free of the unwieldy encumbrances of the city, ie., panhandlers, skeeves, and earnestly entitled executives. 
He confesses that he has lost the ability to feel cold, something I have never heard of.
“What do you mean, you don’t feel the cold?”
He shrugs.  “I was working in the barn one night –“
“Wait,” I say.  “The barn?”
“I have a place in South Dakota.”
“Ah.”
“And it was, I don’t know, January?  February?  Super cold.  I mean, I knew it was cold?  But I wasn’t.  I stood in the barn in just a tee shirt and long pants and threw hay for a good two hours before I felt even remotely cold…”  He trails off.  “That can’t be right, can it?”
“Well,” I say, “you were doing physical labor.”
“No,” he says.  “Come on.  Ten degrees.  And that barn’s not heated.” 
We cross Marquette at the lights and I notice that while it is probably 10 degrees right now, he’s not wearing a coat.
We’ve been walking for several blocks, and he isn’t shivering.  I reach out, pull a glove off, and lay my hand on his bare arm. 
Warm.
There's a crowd as he leaves.  It is no longer winter, and yet there's a nip in the air at the elevator banks.  The same man who once called me "honey" in a meeting ("It's what I call my girlfriend.  I'm so sorry!  Please don't call HR!") waves good-bye.  
"I hope you feel cold some day!" I say.
And the others in the office turn to stare.