Snowbank blanket


He skated on every pool of water.  We looked up, we looked down. We played a series of games waiting for a Minecraft reservation.

The thing about winter is that the cold and the crusty snowbanks block out extraneous noise, the tiles of bananarama line up into place, clicking against the salted floor  The Jenga blocks clack against the surface of the table top.  The snow scrunches between our boots and the sidewalk.

We are impervious to other chatter that deafens us all week.


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