January 8, 2018
Iím out walking under the harsh sky. The sun tries to burn a hole in the haze but it cannot. The houses are cramped little things shoved up against the railroad tracks. It is a seeping muddy landscape like spring, but it is not spring yet. This will all soon be glazed with ice again. It will be covered with snow. I will get my shoes dirty out here. The wind picks up and I can feel its chill through my coat. The street is empty. What can you say about a cold, empty, and dirty street? It mirrors life?