At the corner table, Winter sits slumped over his drink. His white suit, so sleek and spotless just a few months ago, is grey and shabby, and his leather boots need a shine. He rasps an unsteady hand over his chin, wipes an icicle from his nose and downs his drink in one gulp. He thumps down the glass, ignoring the dirty looks from customers nearby.
"God, I'm sick of this," he says. "It's the same thing every year. At first they love me, they ooh and aah over the first couple of snows, yeah, but now? I send down my best work, and all they do is whine and complain. Any idea how hard it is to make a snowflake? Get all six sides just right? Yeah, you guys don't have a clue, do ya? Just stupid rain, that's all you have to do."
Spring sits across the table, perched primly on the edge of her chair in a light green dress. She's putting on lipstick. Oh, she's getting longing looks, and she knows it, from the men and some of the women, too. She shakes her hair, and a few tiny leaves drift down, and the scent of new grass floats across the room. She leans over and pats his hand.
"It's tough, I know," she says. "How about you sign out early this year? I could use the overtime."
Summer, in a hot red number, sitting to Spring's right, turns to give her a smoldering stare. "Listen", she hisses, "just stick to the schedule. And remember, I get my full shift. I've got plans. By the time I'm through - " she gives Winter a look, and he shifts uncomfortably in his chair "- they'll be begging for your snow, believe me."
Autumn saunters back from the bar, carrying another tray of drinks. How does he get away with that outfit? On anyone else, all those colors would look ridiculous. But he just looks like the cutting edge of cool. He smiles down at them all: sulky Winter, Spring, batting her eyes, Summer drumming her fingers on the table.
They nurse their drinks in thoughtful silence awhile. Then Autumn leans back and sighs.
"You know what I like?" he says. "I like how every year you get to do it all over again, kind of like - who's that guy who did the Sistine Chapel? You paint it, and it's so beautiful, it doesn't matter if you have to pack up and leave it, and know it'll all get painted over with something else. Next year, you can do it all again. I just love that."
"Oh, that's beautiful," sighs Spring. She reaches over and pats his cheek. "You're always so philosophical."
Summer rolls her eyes. "Come on, guys, drink up," she says. "It's almost closing time."
The bar's nearly empty now. The barkeeper's giving them significant looks. The TV in the corner is showing the late night weather update.
"Damn, that's right," Winter says. "I've got a polar vortex to put together for tomorrow morning. I gotta go."
Spring pulls her shawl over silky shoulders. Summer nudges her. "Your turn to tip, remember?" Autumn brings the empty glasses to the bar. Winter pulls on his parka.
And out they go, all four, Winter leading, and a gust of icy wind and a few stray snowflakes sneak in as the bar door closes behind them.
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