The wind flows in a river of white around my feet. I brave the undertow that threatens to pull me down amongst alabaster waves that roar and froth and leave eddies in their wake. I barely make it to the stock square door before the winds make their last attempt to drag me under. I don't have to wait in line long, few would brave the winters storm, but for those few who call the brown box building home, a day like this is just another day.
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