I stand outside of the classroom, waiting while a friend finishes her first morning cigarette. Snow covers the trees, cars, sometimes the tops of peoples hats, and every last inch of the ground. I listen to my boot crunch down on the sea salt, freshly scattered this morning to melt the ice by men with thick accents. I miss driving down the Pacific Coast Highway after a long day in Malibu. The windows down, five o’clock sunset hovering above the mountains, and as my mother would say, “the sea breeze kissing my hair.”
