The night air is chilly, but I refuse to call it cold, as if by assertion I can force the weather to remain firmly in the territory of a mild early spring. It gently nudges through my fleece pants; I couldn't be assed to change back into clothing appropriate for public appearance. Overhead, the moon watches as it always does, without comment.

"Are you not in your house?" my mother asks me through the phone.

"No, I'm taking a walk to post some mail." The gas bill sits crumpled in the chest pocket of my jacket, an excuse for a chore so I could take the phone call outside of my house. I've already walked past the block with the sticker-covered blue box twice because I wasn't paying attention to where I was going.

"Oh, sure," is her only response before resuming her report of which of my cousins were dating, which had gotten married, and which just got dumped.

08 April 2014 22:33

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