Gloves, which are great against the asshole cold, except you cannot pick up dog shit with them (well) or write with them—as I will, in a small notebook, during the walk, as the dog is boring, he pees along a grid that is complete in his mind—and you think human invention would’ve overcome this matter by now for me.
A warmth that passes through the hand, the source of which is totally not the dog shit just picked up from the ground. A different degree of warmth. I think, “Oh, sign of death.”
