A NEW YEAR BEGINS

The city is much as I left it, though I havent been back for long. The buildings squat grey under a ceaselessly grumpy sky, waiting for a rumored storm. The air uneasy, freighted with the potential of moisture. We will wait.

(TRANSLATION: I got back last night and we're waiting for some kind of thunderstorm to descend upon the city. Also, I read The Road by Cormac McCarthy in one sitting.)