i walk miles every day in the snow and salt riddled streets, and my nose turns cherry red in the cold -- like santa claus. upon arrival, i breathe smoked steam into my cupped hands and make a bee-line for the restroom were i'll melt the ice off my dirty champion brand sneakers under the hand dryer. thank you, automatik. i have deep rivets blistering on my thumbs and hard callouses line the blades of my fingers, ugly bumps on my knuckles. the old ladies make fun of me and my meticulous cleaning, my endless shuffling from shelf to shelf. but i don't care. i only smile and make them laugh like geese; anything worth doing is worth doing well. my hair is getting long. it needs to be cut. but spring is coming fast, and the thought of the sun warm on my neck makes me smile silly.
