It was a windy city filled with windy people. As the biting gale wicked the moisture from my face, the passing flow of strangers wicked the warmth from my gaze.

Some people were blown over by the wind. They lay hunched in alleys and byways, searching for reprieve from the sharp dank air — their remnants hovering in the echoes of rattling pennies and dimes.

Others walked out on the boardwalk and they braved the howling wind. In an attempt to find refuge they hoisted themselves over the rails and threw themselves into the tempest. Releasing parachutes they were blown away — somewhere high among the ramparts and pinnacles looming above the shore.

And as they landed in the towering spikes and spires which staccatod the skyline, they lived glamorous lives shielded from the blow.

But most — they just wanted to stay warm. They paced in a quickened frenzy between destinations at no particular time and for no particular reason. Passing one another, they lowered their anemic glances, afraid to feel the cold breeze of others’ cold phantom wake.

The trees quivered in suspended animation. Even the soft, radiant throb of the pinprick orbs failed to thaw the branches from the air’s whistling flow. Again and again the lake barraged the city and it’s people, and again and again the metropolis heaved its lungs to and fro. But then, there was a lull. It was Christmas.