The sun rose on the silent city, which was unmoving in
the cold winter morning. The tall, narrow houses that lined the frozen river,
creeping as close to bank as they were able, were covered in a light dusting of
new snow, broken here and there by trails of hopping footprints from the ugly pigeons
that inhabited the city’s rooftops. It wasn’t until the sun was well overhead
that the stillness was broken by the sound of snow shovels, people clearing
their sidewalks and driveways. It was followed by protesting car engines,
grumbling when turned keys prodded them to life.
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