St. John's is finally embroiled in 100km/h winds and quickly accumulating snow. Things are feeling a bit more normal. People come out and methodically shovel, in poor form, as soon as the wind abates for a while. I feel like it's an unthinking obligation, the way they go at it for hours in the wet snowpack. I don't. I don't have a vehicle to drive or much hear for sidewalks, in general.

My roomates have created obscene snowmen in the backyard. I don't think that bashfulness put the sculpture in the back, but rather that we don't have a front yard. Picture a choirboy with an affinity for carrots. It's pretty creative. Blizzards also usually mean a trek for food, and time and space to eat and drink. I'm full, and my teeth are stained with wine.

I paid eight dollars at the corner store for chips and eggs. Later, I sat down and considered what a markup that was. But snowstorms render a person careless. What is a four dollar bag of chips when all our houses are going to blow over? Nothin, man, nothin.