The snow buckets down fine and wet, covering up the filthy ice in soft white and shrouding the sky in gray. We bustle the streets from shop to shop, getting supplies for the night - cheese, wine, olives, bread - just like real adults.
"See, I wish December was like this," Katie says as we cross the street, and I think about this for a minute. I wonder to myself what we would have left to save us from the soot and glaciers, the bitter cold, if we were already tired of fine, wet snow by the time January rolled around, and we still had so far to go.
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