Farts Not Bombs

Getting ahead of my own question when the door closed behind my back. I swear it's 30° colder
as I walk over this bridge. The wind blows through my clothes as if they weren't even there.
The wind blows, The wind blows.
If I was smart I'd get home as quickly as I could. I wouldn't drink this much coffee this late. My mind follows
paths of luck and my eyes survey what I pass. I must have heard this fifty times by now.
Time to buy a watch.