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Weekly Contest #77
It doesn’t snow back home. Looking out at the window from my small apartment, with nothing but thick clothes and a choice to make, I see that it snows. I’ve been in the city long enough to know the odds living in the outskirts, but apparently not long enough to get used to the sadness when you’re alone. The chill in the apartment is a lot crisper than it’s supposed to be, and I reckon it’s the broken heater that my landlord doesn’t seem to consider a problem, no matter how many times I’ve asked. It’s partly why I drown myself with coffee. ...
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