Rebecca kneeled on the dusty floor of the storefront window, tightly rolling the cotton batting into a giant, snowy jellyroll that reminded her of the breakfast she'd skipped that morning. As she jammed it into the black storage bag, she hoped she'd be in Saskatchewan by next winter---she was sick of fake snow. She vacuumed the remaining cotton fuzz off of the floor and wondered if Tim Hortons still sold maple bars.
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