I am roastified

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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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