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   No, I don’t want to go on. I can survey the thin layer of snow settled everywhere on this flat countryside from here, and spend a moment watching the surveillance cameras, and I’ll wait until I get cold enough, but I’m not going on. This broad new highway puts a line down the middle of the empty out there, but it’ll be way too long a walk to wherever it goes and my breath is already paradoxically hot in my nose. I’m not ready for this at all.
   Where the highway dips fractionally, the flat line of the bridge it passes under makes a near-in horizon, and circumscribes this expanse. Like I’ve been living in a little white pan of snow. The hot ache of the muscles at the back of my neck works away at my skull. I’d put the damn rucksack down but with the way my hands aren’t working, I might not get it back on again. Next time, really just bring more water.
   Or a car.
   Which is not the first time I’ve thought theft is what I should be down with right now.

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