Woke up... drifting... After a while I decide to get up. It's ten past eleven and it is absolutely time for a Pint and some breakie. I get dressed, grab my hat and brush the dust from the brim, smooth out the little red and yellow feather and plunk it on to my head. I grab a bag of garbage that sits, stinking by the door and head out. Once outside I am again assailed by winter. The cold, the noise. Everything is louder, more intensified in the winter. The lighter, cooler air makes even the slightest sounds crackle through it like a rifle shot. My boots crack, and boom across the hard packed snow and stones as vehicles roar past. Even the smallest sub-compact sounding like an 18 wheeler, (Breaker 1 - 9 I think we got us a CONVOY) and human voices take on a sharper, meaner tone that leaves one questioning the very intent of every word spoken. My ears burn with the red-hot sensation of pre-frostbite. It's March for the love of Dog, and it's been cold and snowwing for so long now that the miserable memories of winter are begining to supplant the pleasent recollections of the wonderfully hot summer we had both here in Cowtown, and in my second home, Vancouver. I'm beginning to believe that my existance is nothing more than a collossal cosmic joke!