Another quiet corner

He stood there in the gloaming, eyes lifted to the barely-textured wall floating sideways above. His arms extended and mouth opened wide. He was smiling, and though he wasn’t necessarily trying to catch the snowflakes in his mouth, they arrived there. It is worth noting this place was one known casually and hundreds of times. This day offered relatively nothing to note. But as the white specks multiplied and meandered silently downward, the aggregate overwhelmingly flattened space like a sheet cast over a freshly made bed. The surfeit honking of horns, the street sounds, now hollowed. The wafers dallied, then loitered with the imbalance of air but navigated along the skyscrapers deftly, without touch. As they reached his feet, they held, much like on the panels of metal and chrome. He felt his fingers numbing like the tips of his toes, and he wondered if the gap between the base of the infrastructure and the street caused the surface to cool more rapidly. The white tapped away the green. The hum in the girders came from engines rattling awake after red, not some flat-owner who rolls this in Spazzolato claps. Untroubled, it was still back over a shoulder with the weight of one strap and two miles home through the flyspeck wet.
Another quiet corner
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