Bay street had become an intricacy of smoke and post-Covid.

I wiped my fingers over my eyes, brushing away the flakes clinging to my lashes. Only a few hours of opening of my depot remained. I’d have to navigate my way dropping rush orders from the Platis plant.

I’d witnessed firsthand snow fell, dancing and curling.

It is 8am. There is a scent of a breeze from the draperies and dry-clean garments. “Smells Fresh and Invigorating” …