The early hours of the new day are slow. Out of a white, overcast sky, daylight settles reluctantly on snow covered rooftops. Streets are empty. Alleyways lie partly in the dark. A fresh, thin, and still undisturbed blanket of snow covers the world around me.
The air is crisp and clear and the city slumbers in its frozen sleep. The chill feels like needles on my cheeks and I am glad I brought my hat. My footsteps crunch in the soft snow. A jogger crosses my path. He pumps out tiny clouds of breath while effortlessly gliding over snow covered cobblestone. I inhale the cold morning air and it sends a sting through my nose. In the distance I can hear the unmistakeable sound of an ice scraper fighting its fight against a frozen windscreen. A council worker clears away snow and scatters road salt across the pavement. In his bright, fluorescent jacket he looks like an orange fighting an invasion of coconut flakes.
Up ahead I can already see my destination. A cube made of glass and concrete - four storeys of perfect, ugly symmetry. I arrive far too early. Inside it is warm, but empty. I remove my hat and walk up a flight of stairs, sneering at the elevator, proudly celebrating my newly found enthusiasm for relying on my legs instead of technical gadgets as a means of transportation.
A woman services the coffee dispenser. I wish her a good morning and she looks at me like I just threatened to kill her only child. Without coffee I move on. With every step my wet shoes make a squeaking noise on the linoleum floor. I walk past a number of identical doors, before I arrive at my final destination. I enter the waiting room with the usual obedience of someone wanting to be some place else. To my surprise it is almost empty. Is it too early? Isn't anybody sick anymore? Are they all already dead?
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