Thursday, January 25, 2007


When the air turns cold in January, salt sprinkles the streets and sidewalks white, the city's grit and grime mat the snow dirty—ugly even—and you weigh how much longer winter has still to oppressively run its course, you should find some warm place indoors, and talk to people you really like.

Then you should trundle off to your trundle bed and sleep the sleep of the damned and doomed, snuggled deep within the covers—oblivious to the cold.


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