Climate Change Victim
I wait eleven months a year for days like today. Cool mornings, nice in the sunshine when there's not a chilly gust. I have long-sleeve T-shirts in my wardrobe literally hanging out waiting for this tiny sliver of weeks where they're appropriately comfortable.
Alas I must have read one too many El Niño doomsday articles during that 35 degree weekend at the start of October. I believed the hype and for some reason I picked out a polo shirt before I walked out of the house today to gray skies.
I instantly regretted it. To add to the insult I was swooped by birds on the way to the train station who spotted my short sleeves and goosebumps from a hundred metres away and felt the need to give me haircut to remind me it was still Spring, mofo.
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The woman with the fake tan stepped into my office, sat across from my desk and lit a cigarette.
At least, she would, sometime in the next 20 minutes. Smelling the future has advantages, but precision isn’t one of them.