The Drum was most beautiful beneath a blanket of snow. Nan was the kind of woman who softened during winter. A bear approaching hibernation. Carols started at first frost, and while we listened to Bing sing his dreams of a White Christmas, my sister and I splashed about in puddles of shit-gray slush, hoping for an illness to excuse us from school
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Just another day to feel like I'm in the wrong place, I guess. I get that a lot. Welcome around.
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Haha I almost quoted Hanson and choked on my tea. Thanks, you.
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Hahah thanks, man. On all accounts. I've a Herbert-centric hidden in an undisclosed location but you didn't hear that from me.
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