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-off 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” …