I
check for ice on the windshield this morning. I touch the glass and realize how
much colder it has to get for ice to form. Today it’s the first of October. The
harvest is almost done. Winter creeps closer and closer. We’re all a little
scared.
Guys
talk shit about football bets out of truck windows. My wife is stowing money
away for Christmas. Some leaves change color, others remain green. Still, decay
is in the air. I pull up the hood of my sweatshirt to trap some heat around my
scalp and ears as I step out of the car and watch for my breath to be visible.
At quarter to six the moon and stars are bright overhead, burning through the
city glare.
Inside
GE an alarm sounds. A plume of smoke is released from a stack. The sky bleeds
red enough to scare sailors but no one is expecting rain. Sometimes it comes
anyway.
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