We find the changing of seasons (particularly summer’s Irish exit) utterly inconvenient, but sadly, we have come to learn that it is difficult to argue against the earth tilting on its axis. Apparently there is nothing we can do, save move to California—a place where the earth seems to have come to a screeching halt, suspended in a sun-drenched void. Still, in search of something beyond Corona and chronic summer, we have come to find reasons to rejoice in those requisite wool wearing and bone-chilling winter evenings: the propensity to consume more animal fat, for one, the glorious ubiquity of squash, and, most notably, the craving (or tolerance) for wines that could power a cruise ship.
We find the changing of seasons (particularly summer’s Irish exit) utterly inconvenient, but sadly, we have come to learn that it is difficult to argue against the earth tilting on its axis. Apparently there is nothing we can do, save move to California—a place where the earth seems to have come to a screeching halt, suspended in a sun-drenched void. Still, in search of something beyond Corona and chronic summer, we have come to find reasons to rejoice in those requisite wool wearing and bone-chilling winter evenings: the propensity to consume more animal fat, for one, the glorious ubiquity of squash, and, most notably, the craving (or tolerance) for wines that could power a cruise ship.
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