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January 14, 2003
Twentybelow (Canadian) and my weird compulsive neighbour is methodically attacking his driveway with a shiny aluminum scraper, one end of his striped scarf wrapped around his face, the other hanging to his knees. I can relate to his need for perfectly smooth surfaces and razor-sharp edges. But he loses me when he starts evening out the snow on the lawn. I want to open my window and yell at him to leave those wind-carved curves alone. (They remind me of the opening scenes of the Sahara in The English Patient.)

He’d probably dust the trees if he could reach.