About the work

The wind picked up, as it always did, just before the first cars started. He used to watch it, every morning, from the kitchen window of the studio apartment, wondering if anyone else paused to witness the snow moving like a solid thing. It felt like watching time itself, but then he’d turn back to the coffee, the cold already seeping into the walls. His commute was less a drive and more a bracing against the elements, a quick sprint through the parking lot. He still remembers the distinct crunch of fresh snow under his work boots that morning, a sound so crisp it almost made him forget the chill.