A little weekend Lileks

Yeah, I know what you mean:

Cold day. Damned cold, with a mean wind full of hatpins – pure raw winter eternal, laughing at the conceits of spring. In some parts of the country I believe winter dies easy and early; here it goes down like the Third Reich. You can hear it laugh: You like this? I got more! I call it March!

And:

The door wasn’t the problem. It was a slab of marble beneath the door. After half a century it had . . . moved, slightly, enough to cause contention with the door itself. He had a circular grinder. He put on a mask and bent to his task, and the dust of some ancient quarry filled the vestibule. Wonder if someone inhaled it, and will carry a molecule of an Italian quarry for fifty years and leave it in the ground on the other side of the world. Every day has a mystery like this; we’d probably go mad if we knew them all.