But no one was fooled. People hurried about their business, eyeing the clouds as they loaded the last of the cordwood into garages and cellars, finished weather-stripping the windows, inspected snow blowers and told themselves they might be able to coax one more season out of them. At dusk the wind died down and the wisps of snow gave way to fat white flakes. The leaves still on the hardwood trees and the needles on the evergreens trapped the snow until the weight forced the branches to point to the ground. The season had suddenly changed.
Bourbon is used heavily.
I think you should buy it, but wait until February to read it. But writing the book was the difference between running the mile and running the marathon. There was more trial and error with the novel. I recorded one song that was less than a week old. You can't do that with fiction.