Snow Days

The snow had brought with it a chaotic lawlessness that bred small camaraderies: silent smiles shared between strangers that said, “This is beautiful,” and the smirks that read, “This fucking sucks.”  The ungroomed roads had become snow parks for the daring, deep blue footprints heading into the middle of the streets that should have been filled with moving cars.  Pedestrians walked where they could; any snowless patch of concrete was fair game.  They crossed at intersections like drugged chickens, heading in all directions according to the depth of the slush and the quality of their shoes.

What was beautiful yesterday was quickly turning into a bile-colored slush, the pristine white becoming too familiarized with the reality of New York.  The snow held onto things we wanted and things we didn’t want: trapped bicycles, bags of garbage, dog piss.

Trains ran infrequently and when they came they were filled to the brim with people wearing ugly accessories, hats and other things.  Little men traveled with shovels, waiting to be hired.  We traveled under the cold madness above.

It was the closest thing an American could ever imagine coming to a military state.  Cars left abandoned in peculiar places, children waging war with snowballs, government vehicles pushing snow down the street after midnight.  We were a spoiled lot.

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