April may be the cruelest month, but January is the most depressing. It’s cold and gray outside and the promise of spring is so distant that warmth seems like nothing more than a half-remembered dream. It’s like that in November and December, too, but at least then you have the holidays to look forward to. Presents! Food! Twinkling Lights! Vacation!
But now all that’s gone. All that’s left is the cold. Gray slush in the streets and gray clouds in the sky. Dead Christmas trees on the curb.
There is no excitement or promise in January, just the chill in your bones and knowing that all you can do is endure. All you can do is bundle up, trudge through the night-blue snow, and hope to whatever gods you believe in that there’s beer where you’re going.