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.