I'm not so much alarmed by the fact it is snowing as I am that a Michael Bolton song is playing through the stereo and I'm almost liking it. Strange times indeed!
The snow is wet and heavy. Trees and their branches are bent in abdication, aknowledging the inevitably of seasonal tyranny. People in the street jump and gyrate as they try to elude a minefield of puddles and snowpiles.
Shall we despair? No, we shan't. And why?
We're hopeless optimists. And we're thinking, "Hey, at least it ain't Florida."
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