As I sprinted toward the M79 bus this morning, fistfuls of snow flew in my face. I blinked the flakes out of my eyes and forged ahead, big boots flying.
“What, you was playing in the snow?” the bus driver asked as I boarded, then burst into hysterics. “The collar!” he shrieked, pointing at my snow-caked jacket.
Actually, I would like to play in the snow. So he wasn’t far off.
