Wearing very little, but a lot of very little.
The hands come fast to freeze.
A sweater on the corner is the man with his running suit, his folds of skin.
He can run 18 feet. At estimate.
My own feet, blistery.
Plug sound into the ears and there's a new advertising method that involves sticking your headphone jack into a hole in someone's head to hear their thoughts. The other person is electronic and two dimensional. People run into each other trying to stick their metal parts into other flat people's holes.
A bottle of milk on the front step turns into ice cream in 1948. Cream that rises and undersweet.
Clouds. Breath. Clouds. Cloud. Breaths.
To make a telephone call, shout into a piece of mail and then rush to a postbox. The cold will hold your voice slowly. Tender in its knifelike hands.
Here is a picture of deer in icing: