Neil Serven

  
I caught a cold over Christmas, and as a consequence my voice has dropped an octave and taken on a syrupy, Clooneyesque lustre that I’ll miss once the NyQuil and Sudafed have done their work.

My wife joked about getting me a hatchet for Christmas, and though she went another route it was hard not to notice that, on the whole, my haul this year had a bit of a masculine tilt, a little noirish, a little cool. We’re expecting our first big snowstorm on Tuesday, after a stretch of disarmingly mild weather, and I forward to warming my soul with these.