Is winter.

Of all the days not to have a bus token or a single dollar.  12 fucking degrees, and the first time I’ve walked to work since early fall. In our office it hovers in the mid-fifties, and we’re all walking around in hats and coats.  It should not be so pleasurable to wash one’s hands in hot water, but it is an experience approaching ecstasy after a few hours typing with stiff fingers next to a drafty storm window.  The only consolation is that I am not a canvasser.  I could close the blinds for added insulation, but then I would not get to see napkins, styrofoam and other detritus fall out of higher windows.  Or have a moment of day light.  Yesterday was so windy that South Philly’s trash has collected itself—and lodged in trees.  Never had I seen so many plastic bags aloft in a single afternoon.

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