4 a.m.

Pausing for the last cigarette of the evening, in an open doorway, it seems that the rain is sulfuric. In this town nobody would argue. It's more a trick of the light, I think, the sodium lamps put the yellow-orange cast across everything and glitter through each droplet - and when something is cold enough it will feel hot.

The rainwater slithers over the grey-black titanium ice - titanic ice, seeking it's level. From directly above, it looks like an aerial shot of an overflowing river spilling across the plain of a vast, unknown geography. From above, the snowbanks are like mountains rising up from and overlooking the floodplains and rivers... If one can imagine themselves several thousand feet above ground level

This notion has occurred to me before. It always leaves me feeling solitary. Witness to something that may or may not be aesthetic, but is invariably inconsequential. Perhaps this keeps things in perspective, but I'd rather be doing something relevant than simply walking home...