How bitter it tastes to see people snowboard and ski outside until late, unable to join them and ride. Our entire verande front was basically a window, which in this case resembled a huge television screen that showed Mtv without sound. I can't help but think about the TV parlor in Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451.
I woke up to the sound of our team manager trying to cook breakfast. It was terrible. The sound, not the breakfast. Most of the crew was still asleep. I used the quiet to charge my phone and stare out the window some more. It took a while for me to realize that there was a mountain covered in snow right in front of us.
They said there was a great art gallery downstairs, so large that it would be stupid to miss out on it. Almost as stupid as going to a ski resort and not ski. After breakfast we got in the van again and waved the mountain and the gallery good-bye, made half-hearted promises to come back, and looked forward to get home.
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