Radix Malorum est Cupiditas

There was no way. Felt the strain on the second day only. Seriously. Thought I would throw up just from the wind and cold and the nipping fingers. A busload of people looked out to see the fumbling and the lurching...quite horrible really. But that stretch of road and the eventual making-it-to-the-double doors I had trouble recognizing for a good amount of time. Come on, they all looked the same.

But it's that. Exactly. Came to know it like the back of the hand. And the cold was just another reason to go out or to stay in. And every step was something to write about, think about; remember. I don't even know who won the game that morning but sat there still and looked through the "dial of glass" - the wires touched their faces...but no - this time around, unlike the original context, the mosquito death is in the viewer.

Oh hell, hell...can't stop harping on about it. Really, all that walking to see that mass of, I can't even say it now. Wow. Quiet mornings and all the people in between who come to be a small three seconds of your life. Then there are those who decide to make you have to call the one two minutes away from where you are so you can promise again what you already did in a postcard. That's right.

Walked down that stretch of road - the ships still in the small harbor and the cold still in the air. Walked down that stretch of road - and nothing makes sense even then, even now, even ever.