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A friend quit today. Oh, and it snowed. A dirty, icy, sniveling snow. The sort that coats things in hard pebbles. Kid useless snow. It makes things drab, bitter... grey. Today's the thirteenth of the month. I suffer from triskaidekaphobia.
For a rational guy, it's an irrational thing. But sad, or bad, or ugly things have too often happened around the number 13 for me to dismiss it as mere chance.
My Rita says it's a self fulfilling prophecy thing. But did I make my colleague quit today? Did I will my wife to fall in a hospital room numbered 13? And... and... Nope... no need to belabor the grimness of 13th days like this. 13th days that snow dirty, and mark the quitting of a good friend to go otherwhere and leave us missing her.