Day 2

It was a lot brighter this morning as the street lamps reflected their yellow light onto the freshly fallen snow.

There’s something about snow that beautifies whatever it rests upon.

The snow also heightened the morning’s sense of mystery, framing the movements of every passerby. I immediately noticed a line of drawn-out footsteps signifying that someone was out earlier than I.

As I took a closer look, however, I noticed that they led from a car into a house and the drawn-out effect in the snow was caused by dragging, signifying that this person had just called it a night while I was beginning a new day.

I went the opposite direction today—my goal is to never walk the exact same route twice—and I was immediately drawn in to a door stained with bleeding, black letters, the markings of an amateur artist.

I wondered how it must feel to see those letters each time you enter your door. I wonder how many times those letters force the tenants to take one last anxious look over their shoulder before locking the door behind them.

Bolted to the outside wall of the building was a disturbing display of vending machines. The juxtaposition of a cigarette machine, 

a candy machine,

and a toy machine

created the perfect meeting place for people of all ages to get their fix. Each machine hung at different heights according to the targeted audience, a street school, of sorts, where parents unconsciously teach their children the addictive process from toys to treats to smokes. Each deep inhale and cough of smoke teaching, “One day you’ll grow out of treats and toys, and be a grown up.” There were three more cigarette machines on my short walk. I wonder if they’re strategically placed in this part of town.

The next block down, a house door slammed as a large man stammered drowsily out into the cold, letting out a leonine yawn and stretching his back before crouching into his undersized car. At the same time, a woman under an umbrella dragged her luggage along the sidewalk setting off for an exciting journey. I wonder where she’s going? Packing and unpacking luggage is always exciting.

To my left, a small light reflected off of the shuddered windows. I headed toward the light only to find a woman wearing a head lamp as she delivered newspapers. She must feel underappreciated these days, knowing that the news she delivers has already been published online hours before. A few yards further, I passed a man, digging through a pile of garbage and we exchanged a “Guten Morgen!” In the background, a window reflected the flashing images from a TV that seemed overused, signs of a sleepless night.

I turned the final corner and entered my door, still silent, wife and daughter sound asleep; I sit down and begin to write.