I hate you.

In the summer, you are pleasant and peaceful,
but every windy winter day, you transform into a snowy, biological torture test.
You are the reason I have to wear two layers.
In fact, before I reach you, my coat is usually flopped over my left arm, and I probably said something about how wonderful the weather was.
The second I step onto your pavement, I shudder at the sudden chill and am forced to scramble to equip myself properly. I take my hat from my left pocket, fold the brim and pull it over my head. I take my gloves and put them on as my fingers start to turn white. And then I walk. Your unrelenting wind forces me to keep my head down, and I thank the world that I have glasses to keep sharp, stray snowflakes from colliding with my eyes at a wind speed of over fifteen miles per hour. And as I reach the end of the street and cross over to La Salle and S 11 St, your wind drops away and I have warmth once more. And then, it occurs to me, that the reason I am warm now, the drop of skyline over the respite of St. Thomas Universality, is the same reason that I was cold walking here. And I question why I always walk down your hellish route of a wind tunnel. There are so many other streets, all of which more pleasant by which I could reach Hennepin. And yet I keep coming back to you.