Snow falls from the branches. It looks like cotton, but looks and feels are different. Snow has fallen. Wet and heavy. I dropped my coffee on a long white pillow. I dropped my lunch on the asphalt. Thank god for pyrex the unbreakable glass.
All the colors are over-saturated. White grays blacks again. Do you remember the silence?
I don’t mind this time. But I’m stalked by a snow plow. He grunts behind me.
I had something else in mind on the walk over here, but now it’s gone and something else is running instead. Elizabeth Taylor is dead. “Do we have it on the website?!” why yes. “At least she died on shift” It’s all for the news.

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