Winter tastes like salty tears and warm cookies. Skiing down an icy slope tastes like worried freedom, not quite right, but not quite wrong.

January 3rd, 2016, 12am

It was 0°C with overcast. The breeze was light.



Porter wants to know more.

Porter said thanks.

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Cody Rendon

Writing tastes like sharp spices of expression and nerve in a boiling hot stew.

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