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Artist
The frost is light, at minus 28 degrees, but I’m used to it, especially after frostbite on the lung. Snowy Everests line up one after another, huge mountains are collected in heaps. Smoke from smoked meats floats around the area. You yourself are smoked like a roll. At the dawn of the old days, they are walking with a dog in a vacant lot. The nose stings from the cold or from a slight runny nose, who knows.
