The world outside my window is encased in a thin sheet of ice. Inch-long icicles are hanging from all the power lines, and tinier icicles are clinging to the bottom of just about everything else. The sidewalk is a sheet of ice floating on top of a thin layer of water. It’s incredibly hard to walk anywhere, and even the emergency vehicles going by are traveling at maybe 25 mph.
The big city snowplows occasionally drive by, the blades of their plows thundering against the pavement as they fly down Route 66. The sanders and salters follow in their wake, sending up a cloud of gritty mist behind them. It’s all quite lovely, in a weird, terribly inconvenient kind of way.
