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nu!trek, chris pine, zachary quinto

The First of November

I step into the early morning darkness

And the breath is sucked from my lungs,

Ripped away from my large warm body

By the frigid wind nipping at my hair,

Pulling it loose from my blue wool knit cap.

 

Yet I’m already late,

There’s no going back for a coat now.

I curse,

and start my

slow

march

towards

Calculus.  



[unedited]

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