You will stick to two subjects: the weather and everybody's health.

 "She was alone, leaning back in one of the two plastic chairs they'd set out for the incorrigibles, eyes half closed against the afternoon sun." -A Mature Student, page 107 "Our Story Begins" by Tobias Wolff  

      The world is pale, that hopeful weather that at the end of the day leaves you with nothing but despair.  The kind you dress in a t-shirt for, hoping that the more skin you expose the more sun you can absorb, but in the end you're left shivering and searching for a sweater.  The sky has ceased to be blue, but has moved on to a shade of white filled with wisps of cloud, although when you look up, you really have no idea where the cloud began and the clearness ended.  There is no wind because there is nothing to blow.  The trees are bare of leaves and smaller plants have the good sense to stay underground.  The more foolish life forms, namely us, that are still out and about, determined not to acquiesce to the will of Mother Nature, are bundled up against the eerie chill also giving the wind no purchase. It’s not quite cold but certainly uncomfortable, the lack of commitment to one particular state of weather infuriating, like a restaurant goer that continues to change their order long after their water’s pad is filled with scribbles.  The atrium the smokers are banished to is glassed in, yet the smoke twists its way up into the pure, colorless sky rather than a vent that could whisk away the odor and provide some heating: the warm air pushing itself down into the room like a man greeting everyone in a room full of people he pretends to have met before with a fleshy fist instead of the docile rays that are merely going through the motions of warming the world.