it’s snowing, big fat flakes. and all i can do i rest my head on the arm of our big stripped armchair. and stare out at the bay. and listen to the fog horn. and think about how many variations of gray there are out there. and make tea in my new teapot. and eat toast with homemade marmalade. and repeat.
notes from the new underground
fake french, disillusioned youth, overt obsessions, federalist fun
