Unless I’m taking special care to secure myself in the bunker below, my general writing area is one that faces a window directly looking out into my backyard. Obviously, greater forces are imploring that I stay confined to get all of my work done today, because the typically distracting wildlife television screen I face daily has been encrusted in a shell of pure crystallized ice. Here is the day’s view from the eyes of Joseph Luster:
Will he ever escape his frigid tomb? Will his work day prove productive, or will he perish like an arctic mummy, hand forever frozen in the midst of typing his death throe pleas?
Find out!
subhumanzoids 