...the weather outside is frightful....
(As though there were weather inside which might be better.)
The frozen ground is somehow harder than the concrete walk that runs beside it.
I expose as much of me as I dare to the elements, trying to inure myself against the coming months.
It probably was not my best thinking, washing my hair this morning when I knew I was going out, not knowing where (if) I have a blowdryer, which I hate and refuse to use anyway.
It's warm here in Red Emma's, and there's a jazz trio playing. A woman with adorable punkrock hair sits nearby coaxing a tiny kitten to drink frothy milk from a tinier cup. I'm drinking something called a Molotov. It's a shot of espresso in a mug of dark roast coffee, and life is good. Good, with a capital G and more than one o, Gooooood.
(Let It Snow; Jule Styne and Sammy Cahn )