Winter can be snowy, winter can be barren. But whatever the weather it always brings slop to the nose and throat. The inner infrastructure becomes slippery, sometimes blocked, and there are no plows tiny enough to clear it.
Every fall, science provides a vaccine for what it predicts the following season’s flu will be; now we globalists also arm ourselves against Covid. But ailments outflank the best defenses, and colds we always have with us. Environment by itself seems to set off interior irrigation. The hearts of the city’s apartment buildings pump out warm air which, with the twist of a dial, we blast into our rooms. At the same time, despite quilted covers and insulation tape for window air conditioners and gaps between sashes, drafts leak in, sink to the floor, and rise up to chill the hand that falls beyond the blanket on the bed. The push–pull of heat and cold, like flipping channels between Maddow and Gutfeld, itself induces illness.
Comments