It’s after eleven. I’m not ready for bed, I don’t have a lunch ready for tomorrow. It’s cold out. I’m kind of hoping against hope work gets called, which is wholly unlikely but still possible. It’d be nice not to go out in the cold. Growing up in the Chicago area, I accepted cold and—regardless of street plowing—there’s a certain general acceptance of how to exist in cold. The Denver area doesn’t have it. It doesn’t have it for snow, it doesn’t have it for cold. There are all sorts of theories—it’s the recent transplants who don’t know how to deal with the snow, not the natives, which has been such a popular theory it’s now on its second wave of transplants—but it’s still not set up for cold. Or maybe I just want to be lazy again tomorrow.