Summer Snow

Johnny boy was walking down the street, snot dropping off his nose. Spring was in the air, but so was winter, lingering around with nothing better to do. The mixture of pollen and cold had prevented Johnny from taking a breath through his nose for the last week, and he was getting sick of it. While everybody else lazed around in the warm sunshine, admiring the bright colors, he spent most of his time inside, trying to find the right combination of air-purifiers and indoor scents to get his truffle working properly again. He went about it as meticoulously as any scientist, but even after all these years, he hadn't found anything that worked. He had started to seriously consider the possibility that he was being sabotaged by the tissue industry. Right now, though, he had set out to resupply on said paper-squares, his mistrust of their creators forgotten for the moment.

He was making his way back a short while later, arms laden with kleenex, when it came to him. Like all brilliant insights, it started with a simple question mark. He looked at it hanging there, and wondered to what question it might belong. And when he found out, his lips split into a big smile. Of course, the answer was there all along. It might not be the most ethical solution, and it certainly wasn't legal. Then again, if you had to go up against saboteurs and industrial spies, no point insisting on the high road. And besides, it had a nice ring to it. Snow in summer.