Cast

Late nights in Brooklyn, you know the winding road through the industrial edges, around the projects and the police floodlights over abandoned playgrounds. The air is still, the sky light like when it intends to snow, my breath is loud in the way it gets when winter insulates us, I can read these clouds like I grew up in them. Snow in March, you'd think it was a test if you didn't know the world doesn't care what you make of it. Snow.

I have no use for your self pity now. I have no interest in wallowing. The season for aches and pains is over, I stuffed as much of it into a very small apartment as I could but here's the thing. It's March now and in March I open the windows. In March it all washes away into the ether, rises into the air, the thing is I told you I would survive the season and do you see me now?

A little snowflake can do nothing, to the hurricane I am about to bring.