Touch will make you Cry

Winter is beautiful, but bed is better, says Toad. Make that home. Although hard to exchange for anything the pleasure of crashing a random new year party with the glass head and sandal-wearing Saudi. The beauty of a girl leading you out into a mystifying endgame in this most epic of storms. So many absurd stories, captured beautifully by the discovery of the sweet potato in Marlo's jacket's inside pocket. I can't wait for storytime, he says. I win. How can we not, with so much to offer, if capped tragically by the rest on Clive's bottom bunk. The vow to not make ridiculous thefts in the new year foiled hours in with the wearing of the leather jacket into the car bound for somewhere. Morning discussions over chest-jumping turtles, sauntering, and on. I call shenanigans. Silver dollar rubbed, oysters zapped, and so we welcome in with good cheer the grand old year of two thousand and nine. Make it count. And before you leave, write that letter.