What You Want
The delicate December snow fell downward in a soft, slow, spiral to the dark earth below. A few million out of the billion landed on the wet pavement in a small town on the corner by the church. A petite lamp posts light flickeringly lit the smudged white coating on the ground. At first the only sound to break the silence was an occasional car rolling past streets away, the tires skidding in the slush. Eventually, another sound announced the presence of someone possessing thought entering the scene. The crunch of hundreds of tiny snowflakes groaned underneath the weight of a man’s boot, the interval in between the steps suggested a slow and burdened walk. As the person was revealed in the dim light, their shoulders were indeed hunched over and his head down, as though he carried an invisible weight.
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