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Not an April Fool

April first, and my campus
looks like this:

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Oh boy, do I feel your pain. Ooooh Caaaanadaaaa...

It snowed MORE here yesterday -_-

But it's supposed to go up to 8 tonight so I hope that melts some, finally.

...I LIKE snow. XDD

Good luck with the melting and the lack of snow thing. XD IT may or may not get up past +1 here today. XD

I remember that from my year in Northern Michigan.

Yeah. I ♥ Virginia. We've got flowers here.

I <3 Nova Scotia. :D We have snow!

Oh. So it did snow last night/yesterday. I looked outside after getting my coffee, today, and was like, was that snow here, yesterday?

(Why yes, I did pull an all-nighter, yesterday night, why do you ask?)


*has been awake since 0700 Monday morning*

That looks familiar. XDDD

I wish I could deal with the cold. I went up to Washington D.C. during these months and it wasn't even snowing and I was freezing my ass off.

I love snow though.


Well, it can be too cold to snow, you know, so you may have been visiting during one of those times.

It snowed again here YESTERDAY.

Luckily we've had some rain since, so hopefully we're going to start to see some melt this week.

But: For the most part, we gots more snows than yous :(

Until last night/today it'd mostly been, uh, too cold to snow, haha. XD

written on too little sleep, and while on the phone. crap, basically, but SLASHLY CRACK CRAP

He’s ready to go home, he thinks, tugging at the top of his tight fitting purple button-down. It’s past midnight, he hasn’t seen anyone he’s interested in, and he has a meeting to call the next morning to discuss god knows what over coffee. At least, he thinks delightfully at the prospect of the new intern starting, it will be good coffee. So Sam slams down a twenty on the bar and waves off the change, pulling one sleeve down over a thin wrist and putting another hand into his pocket, shoulders cocked. He heads for the back door because there’s still a line out the front where the television is and the electric lights are strongest but here, aside from vague profanities and soft moans, there’s nothing stopping him from getting into the street, hailing a cab, and relaxing into black leather, noise bleeding from his ears.

Only, when he tries to push open the usually only slightly stubborn door, it doesn’t move. Sam’s not that drunk, and he’s strong enough on a good day to bash the metal against the bricked alley, so it must be that someone’s blocking it of course. He kicks harder and then listens for a sound.

Oi,” he rasps, kicking at the door again, “get your arse away from the door before I have to bulldoze it open” and apparently he’s still good enough of an actor that whatever the hell is sitting in front of the door moves, scared shitless most likely because even thin, unmuscled men can sound impressive if they try. So the thing moves, Sam kicks open the door, and he’s out, finally, even if he can still sort of hear the music the air is a bit cleaner and crisper and still smells of snow, even if it’s April and used a hand to wave away a yawn, Jesus I’m not that drunk, and then pauses, looking beyond his hand, noticing a small sprawled figure over to the side of the door and wondered for a moment if this was the fucking deadweat who’d tried to trap him inside.

The boy looks absolutely thoroughly fucked, hair feathering out and shirt sticking to his chest. His pants are closed, Sam has to give the brat some credit, but the lazy expression and dark marks forming around his neck, peppering his collarbone are classless, and he opens his mouth to say something.
The brat beats him to it. “What that you pounding away before?”

Sam closes his mouth with a click and decides that the only response to give the boy with the lazy smile and look of entitlement is to punch him in the face. Which he promptly does.

He feels satisfied for all of forty seconds while the brat clings at his stomach and then looks up between dark lashes angrily and decides to fucking punch back.

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