Postholes, I love you.

I love that you’re like playing Russian roulette in the snow.

I love that you’re like turning the crank on a jack-in-the-box while terrified of clowns.

I love that you’re like Jenga when the tower it teetering.

I love the unpredictable certainty that I’ll punch through the crust of the snow and sink up to my knee. The dread, the acceptance, the possibility it won’t happen, followed by the shock it did.

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The rest of this post is on the Tubbs web site.