the cold is filtering through the gaps in my window, settling chilling comforting. soft reminders of north country winds that call for hard city walks. spinning songs carried on windburnt cheeks and rouged mouths. that old city cold that makes your eyes water and calls for retired scarves and gloves. tired black sack lays at my bedside, mouth wide and anxious, half full with wintery notions, journal and camera. my nerves are screaming for movement, not concerned on how i spend this rotation-celebration.. no, just screaming to get out.. to shiver and dance through unknown weather and weave and dodge in the undergrounds with all my belongings and sweethearts at my hand.

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