I should be soldering right this moment but I refuse to go into the work mindlessly.  Snow in the new studio is going to be cinematic, the flat city succumbed and disappearing under miles and miles of thickened and forthcoming white sky blanketing the double steeples and frothing smokestacks, and rows of trains, and trucks every way, open, closed, hitched and unhitched, pulling, pushing, turning, single double triple and abandoned, persevering the icy gridded graft of man and industry.