Renegade Chef: Self-hypnosis in the 'heat' of winter
The wrath of January is only half-endured, yet that last cold spell seemed like a long prison sentence to the most frigid place on Earth — a.k.a. my driveway.
The hard snow beneath my feet sounds like squeaky Styrofoam as I walk to my car, unprotected from the elements because the garage-door is frozen shut. Even the sliver of a moon looks oppressively cold, frozen in the middle of an early morning sky.
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