I stomp around town in the rain, scowling. "Morning! Morning!", T shouts. But I ignore him, as usual, ever since he roared, as a way of greeting, "Do you have children?!" Petty, I suppose, but I don't give a fuck. I am always cold in this drafty house, and I can't feel my stupid toes anymore. Winter is coming; the last golden and umber leaves must fall.




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