Mixtape: Home Serenades

Ice season. Nothing for it but to stay inside where the heat actually works, while that winter sun outside exhausts itself trying to convince anyone it’s useful. Eggs and bacon on fresh toast. A blanket. M.I.A. into The Weeknd into Dillon—each one flowing into the next without any thought, the kind of afternoon where you close your eyes and hours just evaporate. I’m thinking the whole time about how humanity really missed the mark by not evolving to hibernate. Why would anyone choose to stay conscious through winter. It feels like a fundamental design error.