There was a girl called Noodle Finnegan
She had icicles on her chinnegan
They fell off and then hung onagain
Zero temps are sure to beginagain*
TIME: 6.25am, cialis usa for sale work day.
I take a deep and cavernous breath of frigid air. A sneeze creeps through my sinuses, clinic but when it reaches my nostrils I can tell this particular atchoo is wearing clod hoppers. I hear the distinct sound of nostril hairs crackling like the surface of a frozen pond. I grab the sneeze by the scruff and kick it out into the New York air.
Another gust saunters in to knock on the back of my eyes. By this stage I’ve pulled down my woolen hat so far that it’s resting on my eyelashes, shop and the scarf is now perched just below my eyes. I think, ’so balaclavas can’t just be for robberies…they must actually be for this kind of weather?’ Onward I crunch along 2nd avenue on my way to the subway.
So this is how it’s gonna be. Along with dry-skin days, bad-hair days, fat days, dumb days and Mondays, now I have to contend with chin days and no-chin days. Previously, in my gain-all-knowledge-from-TV days, I thought New Yorkers must be the biggest snobs on the planet. Whenever you’d see wintry footage of them on the streets they’d be blustering along, always looking down, and never making eye contact with their fellow man. Not sharing in the glorious bond that is living check-by-jowl in the big, bad city.
Now I know.
It’s not snobbery. They just don’t want to take their chins out of their scarves. You know why? Because that cold air whipping along the street will turn an unprotected chin into a solid block of blue ice. And you never see an ice chin turn up on the catwalks when fashion weeks swings by, so it can’t be in style. Ever.
But I’m with them now. I’m speaking their language. And I was wrong. New Yorkers are sharing a bond. The bond of their asses freezing off.
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