These two old folks are acting strange outside. They are old. They must be up to something. The woman is about seventy or eighty and short and she’s reaching to the top of a hedge of bushes with a snow shovel and scraping the snow from there. Scraping scraping, and she’s just started when an old man, about the same age, looks like he just walked off the set of a British comedy, walks out of his house purposefully. Shovel in hand. Probably ready to start scraping, I don’t know, I got the hell out of there.

Yesterday these same old folks were scraping piles of snow on the street and flattening them on the ground like they were making some kind of strange snow paella or crushing snow garlic or some shit.

They know something I don’t.

And on my way back from dropping GF at the T, a bald man in faded jeans and a spotless white button up shirt came running towards me as if in a dream. And he yelled, “Look at this!” pointing to the snow piled up on the fence next to us, “Look at this! Twenty more inches coming down tonight!” He yelled as he ran past me. Where was he going?

“Shit!” I said, just to sound agreeable. I don’t really care if it snows four feet in the next five minutes.

Then he started laughing maniacally, and I looked back, and he was looking back at me with his hands in the air. I laughed maniacally in return and hurried along. I would have hurried faster if I knew I could’ve avoided running into the octogenarian snow scrapers.