There are clumps of snow dropping out of the sky. We’re not talking snowflakes here. They’re finger-sized, they fit in a cupped palm. They land heavily. The air isn't white: it's blotting paper. Maybe this is what a snowpocalypse looks like.
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- 1: A second flood, a simple famine, plagues of locusts everywhere
- 2: So Krishna stole the butter, did he?
- 3: When I invited Frank and you back to mine for a mange tout when I meant ménage à trois
- 4: The shadows on the walls don't recognize me anymore
- 5: Well, you can't tell much from faces
- 6: This po-mo stuff is nice, but it's irrelevant to the way I feel right now
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