ham fisted theatrics

I remember fifty-six degree yesterday, when my sweater was in my backpack and my jacket was open.

Tonight, walking down the street and getting stopped dead by freezing wind for a few seconds, it seems like a million years ago. In reality, it wasn't even yesterday: it was three weeks from now, but it got lost and ended up way early in the calendar.

This means we will get a motherfucker March day sticking out anarchronistically in April.

Joy.

If April is the cruelest month, March has learned a few tricks by being next to it since the beginning ot time, the way inmates teach each other how to make shanks and prison wine.