We know, in the end, the slush puddles will triumph, expanding ceaselessly from sidewalk to sidewalk until they finally merge with the rivers and drown us all. Yet still we persist, determined to fight for what's left of our rapidly-shrinking empire of dryness, eager to prove to the world that yes, we can still function; yes, we can walk to work without breaking a hip. It's all such farce. At what point will we accept that resistance is futile and succumb to the sea of slush which is our fate?

What a relief it will be when we stop clinging to this pitiful addiction to dryness and warmth and embrace our new home at the bottom of this frozen slop. Why keep pretending you can jump even halfway across this ever-widening lagoon? It's time to just own it. Go ahead and sit right there on the curb and let yourself sink slowly down. Allow the churning, frosty brew to enfold you. Slip silently into its murky grip. Be free.

It won't be long now before it rises up above your ears and drowns out all the city's droning cacophony. We'll finally find our peace down here, in the darkness at the bottom of the slush puddle, where our tears can float free instead of freezing to our cheeks. And we'll never know thirst again.