predictable

The weathermen chant “6-12 inches” so that we are imprinted with the idea of tomorrow’s storm. We head out into today’s snow showers, collectively clogging the aisles of the grocery store, each stocking up on the same necessities for a big, hearty winter meal. Tonight, the streets are nearly empty save for a few solitary souls crunching along the sidewalks. A fireman directs the ladder truck back into its berth as I walk by, smelling the spices from the local Indian restaurant. Although I have trouble imagining the firemen enjoying the curry as I do, I know that they do, because we are clearly all moving with the same tide.

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