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26.12.2025, 14:41
The snow in Cambridge fell so quietly it seemed you could hear the ice crystals grazing the black waters of the Charles River. It wasn’t the snow I remembered from childhood—not the prickly, vicious snow of the Zagros Mountains that sliced your face like the sand of the Dasht-e Kavir desert. This snow was soft, sterile, almost weightless, like a Democrat’s campaign promise. It swaddled the MIT campus in a white blanket of oblivion, erasing the corners of brutalist architecture
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