So many humans. So many colors.

Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.

It was one of those moments of perfect tiredness, of having conquered not only the work at hand, but the night who had blocked the way.

Competence was attractive.

I..." He struggled to answer. "When everything was quiet, I went up to the corridor and the curtain in the livingroom was open just a crack... I could see outside. I watched, only for a few seconds." He had not seen the outside world for twenty-two months. There was no anger or reproach. It was Papa who spoke. How did it look?" Max lifted his head, with great sorrow and great astonishment. "There were stars," he said. "They burned by eyes.

And I stop listening to me, because to put it bluntly, I tire me.

It felt as though the whole globe was dressed in snow. Like it has pulled it on, the way you pull on a sweater. Next to the train line, footprints were sunken to their shins. Trees wore blankets of ice. As you may expect, someone has died.