17
Olly Olly Oxen FreeAdwin blew into thinly gloved hands to warm them up in the frosty evening. “Why are we out here? This weather’s insane.”
We were huddled beside a wide-slated redwood garden bench at the rear of the Moone cottage-studio-guesthouse (we hadn’t yet figured what purpose it served). It was after nine and the mid-November night was more like late January in Buffalo: bitter and bracing. Our matching American Apparel hooded fleece jackets, worn under heavy oversize men’s raincoats courtesy of a walk-in closet stocked with a sundry of outerwear, did little to halt the north-easterly 40MPH winds from freezing flesh.
“One, to get downtime from the group. Two, to put our heads together.”
“I’d prefer to put something else together -- and in the main house, where it’s warm and
