People shuffle and hop like birds on these icy streets. Everyone is looking down. Their hoods force them to peer into the ground to avoid the freezing wind. The eyes are hard lines and the steps aperiodic. You are invisible here. They are caught in the kinetic frenzy of themselves. Their own feet, their own chill fingers, their own dark vibration. In a moment of unthinkable weakness, you lean against a nearby pedestrian for support. He steps away and you crash to the ground, cold and slick. The shop windows are steamed with the coiled breath of their interchangeable patrons, plugged into laptops like cars being jumpstarted. Winter forms tunnels around them, and they move along without noticing anything outside.
It’s not that this place is empty – in fact it’s packed tight with people. Bulging. Molecules colliding and rebounding off each other in human Brownian motion. Thoughtless molecules.

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