I am roastified

Ah, hey, warmness. Well relatively speaking, anyway. The past week or so the mercury alcohol bimetallic strip weather report has been hovering in the single digits and occasional negative ones. Today it was a balmy 30 or so, so I came out of hibernation this morning early enough to finally get a bank account while the place was still open. That done, I tooled around for a bit gathering groceries, multimeters, epoxy and so forth. Man, the you’re-fuckin-nuts looks I got from people. I was in my car with my coat partly on, and heater running to thaw the puddle of ice on the floor, and it wasn’t even freezing out, and I tend to run hotblooded anyway, so I was starting to roast. So I had the windows cranked down, my arm hanging out tapping along to some nice loud classic rock, occasionally trying to peel the coat off a bit more (damn seatbelt laws), and people in SUVs with 15 layers and mittens were giving me funny looks, can you believe it? I was like, yeah baby, CHI-CA-GO! You east-cost pussies don’t know what cold is.

Tonight, chilling (literally) in my apartment I detect a familiar and rather unique odor drifting in from the general direction of the roomate’s room, an apparent by-product of the combustion of naturally-occuring plant matter. Interesting.


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