And everywhere he walked there were little puddles. Water, he presumed, although nothing was certain these days. All he knew for sure was that his fresh socks were now damp, and his feet, would they ever be warm again?
His toes were rubbing against the wool, as if to make fire. He had on several layers of clothes. To keep warm? Or were they simply disguises that he could shed as the day revealed itself?
Lately he had taken to growing a beard. Another layer. Another disguise. Soon he would no longer recognize himself, he thought. His thoughts were also layered, and damp, as if someone had spilled something and forgot to wipe it up.
The day had only recently started. There would be more of this, much more to come. One thought that would not go away was the phrase “to snake as a verb”. The noun was not real, but the verb vibrated with reptilian resonance.
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