The heavens open up and all hell is unleashed on this hole of a city. Lovers take to parks like frogs in a fuckfest. There is some pleasure derived from the thought that they too will croak.
Quacks get their 15 minutes. The sudden change in weather will cause widespread sickness, they say. Well, Moses be damned. Bring on the plague. It can't get worse than my throat-ache, I reckon.
Besides, I have my elixir right here. It cures all kinds of pains. Even the ones that look you in the eye when you face the mirror.
One part whiskey, one part warm water.
As I nurse my holy grail, the gutters overflow. The sky turns a murky shade of grey. (What other shades of grey are there anyway?) The breeze stings and the stench of death and flies lurks in the air.
Ah, spring is here.