'Snow brings a special quality with it; the power to stop life as you know it dead in its tracks.'
By the time he left the office, it was midnight. He finally stepped outside the tedious tower he worked in, looked up at the choreographed ballet above, and opened his umbrella to guard himself against water's most artistic form. As he stepped onto the road, a gentle hush cloaked Sixth Avenue as it ceased to be a noise-polluted corridor. The silence was deafening. He looked left toward the theatre he'd never been inside and wondered what magic was created there that night. 'If only,' he sighed, knowing full well that he would be back here in a matter of hours to waste another day working worthlessly. As he walked into the distance, the snow continued its delicate dance until it reached the ground to rest.
