Oh, earthworms. This winter's staunch refusal to give us a few consecutive days of clouds and rain is working out even worse for you than it is for me. I've still got this angry robot humming away in the back of my throat, speaking with my tongue and trying to punch with my hands, but I keep coming across your powdery dried-out form strung across the sidewalks when I walk home through these discomfittingly bright evenings, and that's even worse. Your habit of crossing the sidewalk to get to the other side is always mildly distressing, and my habit of moving you off of the sidewalk and out of squishing range is why I'm late to work more often than not. But there are all of those hours when I'm not walking past, and those are the hours that find you stranded on the pavement. When it is raining you stand a chance of moving yourself out of reach of an uncompromising shoe, but lately you have been out of luck.
I'm doing my best to help, earthworms, but I think you would stand a better chance of making it through this winter intact if you got a little bit of the weather you are healthiest in. I think that I would too.
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