The driver of the station wagon slowed his car to a stop to witness a scene in which two children were standing in front of a house (the roof of which was entirely snow covered) for the older child held a gun to the younger child with his arms raised. The driver of the station wagon did not know that the children were brothers, that the gun the older brother held up to his younger brother was merely an unloaded toy rifle, that the bang reverberating was the older brother yelling—somehow convincingly—bang, that the younger brother fell on his back in the snow in front of their (the brothers’) brick home in a fit of giggles, so when the older brother turned to look at the road in front of his house, the driver of the station wagon dared black ice in a tire squealing escape, and once the station wagon had passed the older brother extended his gloved hand to his younger brother, who left a fat angel in the powdery white.
It began to snow, a rainbow peaked through the thick fog, and then a few porpoises splashed and surfaced briefly for air, all while the cruise ship slowly drifted by a huge glacier tucked in between two Chilean peaks. I had never thought a scene like this could exist, but then again, I had never believed in vampires either, and now I was sharing a cabin with one.
I broke my fall.
Next up, I’ll break my winter.
Passing the gelateria I notice the chairs have taken their winter position upside down on top their tables. The chairs remind me that summer has faded, in fact long gone, and that I too should have faded from Rapallo.
It was clear from looking at him that he was Season-blind.
I mean, seriously, he was wearing footy shorts in Winter!
I stand on the balcony in the best cold weather gear money could once buy, hefting a pickaxe and looking at the frozen things on the common below.
They said the Zombie Apocalypse would be the end of us all; all we had to do was hold out until Winter hit Montreal.