Brisk air flows vividly through the canyons of the city’s business district. As a spectator from inside the heights of an eleventh-floor office, observing entertained, a dozen plastic bags dancing in the middle of the, now empty, intersection, before another gust of wind pulls them away through yet another ravine of glassy buildings.
As rapid as the trash can fly out of sight, a gaze can drop down to the road. With nothing but a handful of cars, the only indicator of trouble is the whistling sound echoing through the pipes of the building’s ventilation system. A blissful late-afternoon one might think, as the never-stopping sound of yet another email disturbs the dreamy trance.
Its subject reads a warning message, which is always taken for granted, especially right before it’s time to go home. Closing the laptop, packing the bag, and hopping along to join the dance of the windy song.
One step outside, but not another, as a street lantern hits the curb, but misses. Nature’s strength is not a joke, and our young observer immediately wishes to return behind closed doors.
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