I finished the longest book I’ve ever read. The Winter of Our Discontent by John Steinbeck has 298 pages in this paperback copy, a “Bantam Seventy Five” printed in 1962. And “NOT ONE WORD HAS BEEN OMITTED.”
And now for the weather on the other side of these window panes.
Sunny. Highs near zero. Northwest winds 5 to 10 mph. Lowest wind chill
readings 25 below to 30 below zero in the morning.
And to think, no razor required for the protagonist, just one of his late night walks. And then the question of his intention. Found under a drift and the razors in his pocket.
But Ellen knew all along.
Poultry or tobacco?
Which came first?
I eat the poultry to make the tobacco taste better.