A weak and watery sun creeps over the horizon, stifling a persistent, hacking cough (because droplet infection from an anthropomorphic personification really means something). And those of us lit by its sickly light adjust our scarves, turn our collars up against the cold and hurry about our business, safe in the knowledge that the calendar ticking over to a new year is no more than a convenient attempt by our ancestors to place some kind of meaningful order on a random, pointless and terrifying universe.
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