January 28th

This cold is no longer poetic. It is no longer a temporary diversion or aberration. It is no longer romantic.  I’m weary of trying to make the best of it.  It has given me and my vehicle an acute case of Tourette’s. Theater patrons walk like aliens eyes cast to their feet, teeth clenched,  all skin covered, hand in pockets, steam curling from their nostrils, brisk stiff steps. We need to escape!