I am a snowbank, winter is a time of watching for a snowbank. This city that soaks you in the shade of oranges, blues, reds, and you watch under the starlessness of light pollution. You watch yourself and you think you’re watching the city the whole goddamn time, you think you’re watching the heel-shuffles of empty guts scrape the icy sidewalks, they’re never warm, lacking material, but what a thing to see it’s a reflection the whole time. What a dirty trick. This city’s full of dirty tricks like that. What a clean thing spring is.
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