The way the night continues despite everything. The way the dawn of another grey winter sky creeps up across yr back while you look down, trying not to step on the cracks in the sidewalk. My cheeks are rough and ready for the sting of the wind but the thin skin on the insides of my wrists reddens and aches where my sleeves ride up to leave it exposed to the cold.
The cat is yelling outside the front door again and some soulful lady is howling on the record player and we're all sitting in our bedrooms mumbling about the cold.
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