Salty Prognostication

I’d been watching them blue the fire station perimeter in a salty prognostication. There wasn’t any snow on the weather report. But I wore my ski jacket with the hood pulled loosely over my forehead, because I lost the gloves and beanie in the chaos on the Saturday night event, and I think I shed my scarf at the newest old office, when I was scavenging like a technocratic despot in search of connecting pieces.

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