“Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me”

It's been a state of freezing and daily, if not every other day, bouts of snowdrift and constant flakage. And no, it's not Iceland, the Phillipines...or Hastings. It's Boston and it's damn near frigid.Case in point: eyelashes covered in snow and a double layer of (fake) fur about my head. Man. Get me to the pub for winter warmers. Now. Tonight? Yes.