Dear Central Park:
Here’s one final blast of frost up your bum before I leave town. See you in nine months.
All my best,
Old Man Winter
…because it’s all you need, they say.
* * *
“You know those days when you’ve got the mean reds?”
“Same as the blues?”
“No,” she said slowly. “No, the blues are because you’re getting fat or maybe it’s been raining too long. You’re sad, that’s all. But the mean reds are horrible. You’re afraid and you sweat like hell, but you don’t know what you’re afraid of. Except something bad is going to happen, only you don’t know what it is. You’ve had that feeling?”
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
Yes, Holly, my sweet. I know what that is.