I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but baby, it’s cold outside. Now that the holidays have passed us by and the rest of January looms lengthily in the distance—like a neverending hallway in a cheap hotel, carpeted with repeated patterns of discolored ivy leaves and fleur-de-lis—Father Frost appears to have finally taken an interest in his part of the year. I repeat: it’s really f’ing cold. I’m still not quite sure how to deal with it.
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