My idea was to lock myself into the furthest corner of the house, accept the book and rip through my last cup of coffee like a bat out of hell. Anywhere else on a teacher’s snow day my life would be an arbitrary observer gig, I would be attending under false pretenses.
By this time, the entirety of my presence would be a sick ruse. This is mainly a matter of preserving a life-style. Because a forced life, one Gonzo would call a life with “teeth like baseballs and eyes like jellied fire” would be a pitiful lie, a show.
Ranchers will be ready at dawn, roosters will crow, a poor man will work, and I will read on a snow day.