Blanc
If I still drank, I’d be pulling hard and fast from the Lemon Hart right about now. Three inches of the white stuff accumluated over the weekend. That’s enough to make a guy wish he had a problem. Wish he had an addiction to lean against and cuddle up to on those cold, blustery November nights. Little bit of latter-era Dylan on the stereo, white fuzz outside, Justine on the arm, hot toddys going down oh-so-right. Maybe poke a head out the front door and shudder back in, turn the furnace up, have a short nap on the couch wrapped in that fleece blanket that feels like Sunday heaven. If we’re brave, take the dog for a run and let her roll around in the beautiful white like we used to. Perhaps turn in a bit early and swaddle our asses in that down quilt, rub some legs together. Sounds downright bearable. Even noble.
Take care out there today, E-Towners. Give yerself some extra time to get to work or school. Try to enjoy this dump of white. It’s quite gorgeous, actually.