Iskra
Wonder why I tear myself down
just to get built back up again
just to get built back up again
Not completely sure if he'll be joining the snowball fray this year, Iskra contents himself to a steaming mug of cocoa for now. "Yeah, more cream," he says as he leans in over the cup the worker is making. "More," he urges, catching an annoyed glance up from the whipped cream police, apparently. "Yeeeeeeah, that's it," Iskra praises, reaching for the warm mug and huddling into the heat of it against his gloved hands.
He inhales the steaming sugar with a smile, resisting the urge to already start sipping what he knows is piping hot. At his heel, Goose trots, occasionally diving nose first into a snowbank and flouncing around along its edges. Hopefully none are part of the battlegrounds, otherwise consider the dog's intrusion an act of God or something similar—as liable to tear down an enemy's fort as an ally's, like some four-legged Godzilla set loose.
Iskra nods and waves at some people he passes by, by for now settles near the stalls, waiting for his cocoa to cool to drinking temperatures. The whipped cream at last he can slurp up as it begins to melt, catching whiffs of heat and chocolate with it.
He inhales the steaming sugar with a smile, resisting the urge to already start sipping what he knows is piping hot. At his heel, Goose trots, occasionally diving nose first into a snowbank and flouncing around along its edges. Hopefully none are part of the battlegrounds, otherwise consider the dog's intrusion an act of God or something similar—as liable to tear down an enemy's fort as an ally's, like some four-legged Godzilla set loose.
Iskra nods and waves at some people he passes by, by for now settles near the stalls, waiting for his cocoa to cool to drinking temperatures. The whipped cream at last he can slurp up as it begins to melt, catching whiffs of heat and chocolate with it.
I fill the void up with polished doubt
fake sentiment
fake sentiment
