Wednesday, April 5

Morning:
As Stanley, the janitor at my work, says "It's New England, what do you expect?". I don't know, Stanley, but I don't expect 35 degrees and snow on April 5. So the black mask and gloves are back on, as is the scowl of misery. My pipe insulation rear fender failed to keep me dry and even my socks got wet.












Evening:
Snow in April? Who cares.