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Weekly Contest #90
January 5, 2045 Mabel walked out of her apartment on one of those balmy New England January days. It was the type of weather where you optimistically leave with a jacket, hoping for a bit of cold. Instead, the wind and dust pick up, and if you forgot your neck gaiter, you would be retching up mucous and dust for days. New England humbles you like that. The last of the snow had mostly melted away in a gray thaw, with some plow piles remaining in the shadows - a wan, grey color littered with grit and take-out wrappers, hardly considered snow ...
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