" skirting the rigid rules "

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the wind is whipping through my hair as my eyes dry out with tears streaming down my cheeks. the night air is as cold as the mesosphere burns and cuts, but remains delightfully refreshing.

word on the street is that the rules were made to be broken. by whom, and in what manner? for that matter, whose rules? the long night wanes on, and i clutch my outerwear closer to my shivering body.

someone tells me that the subway station is just ahead, and my bones find a sort of peace with my skeleton. expectations hone, thoughts of home and a warm bed come into focus, and an overall sense of calm supersedes trembling in the elements.

tonight's homework:

bundle up, have tissues, phone-keys-wallet check before leaving, wear your gloves, and make sure you know where the nearest bathroom is.

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