A Roots-hooded figure scuttles towards me over patches of glassy ice. I become more and more aware my nose is running.

My nose is running.

It runs into my moustache, rounds my cracked pink upper lip, and pours like a gauzy waterfall across my stupid pie hole –

“Hey-what’s-up-man-how’s-it-haha-ha-ha!” I sputter out smoothly to the figure, only to find out it’s a neighbour I see often: An older Chinese woman. She attends the church attached to the preschool near my tré cool basement suite.

She waves. Her dead tooth sucks all light from our glistening footpath.

I should help her to her car or whatever… I think genuinely. And then, but I doubt she’s driving, right? She shouldn’t be.

I head home.

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