The update: No suspension of disbelief (or, rather, belief) was achieved.
Somehow, I was back again at Loomis and 15 years old. I don’t know that I’ve aged a day since then, or even long before then, in terms of my fears and incapacities.
The correction: I was wrong. Walking through it until a half inch had accumulated on my coat, I know that the snow does connect. The mechanism isn’t clear to me, but it does. Further research and thought is required. As it drove against my face, I relived moments of months and years ago and imperceptably my eyes teared. Somehow, the snow does connect us all.
One new thing: The radiators here are sometimes loud. Right now they all echo a rhythm that is almost a rhumba but not exactly. It is the same rhythm that I composed on my grandfather’s organ, playing it percussively, at the age of eight. My grandfather was unimpressed. He was a man of melody; there was an electronic box attached to the organ that could take care of the rhythm. Why not leave it at that?
The radiators have now gone quiet. Was their music not for me?
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