It’s grey out. Very grey. Wet. Cold.
Why can’t it snow? I’d love to see some of the white stuff falling from the sky and piling up into little drifts on the ground. Then people would emerge from their homes and workplaces to wonder at how the streets have transformed from wet to winter. And the snow plow driver would run to the city’s only plow and get to work, carving a passage through the streets’ thick blanket. And—
Hell, I think it’s going to rain again tonight. Vancouver never gets any good snow.