The title is perhaps a bit grim.
In the AM hours, under the light of grey clouds and a tiny shimmer of sun, the quad shuffles with people along its many paths. For the most part, however, people stay to the periphery and away from the snow. The morning light reveals a black glove stranded in the middle of the ice rink, palms down, and inches ahead, a hat. They are still, and the moving throngs of people seemingly unaware, as if someone had fallen through the rink, reached out a hand for help, then was frozen, under the pond and in the midst of time.
Now for something completely different:
(So I'm coming from the ice rink of dull death and talking with Nickolai, we walk through the doors in single file.)
Moi (to stranger): So what's up with you?
(Turn around to realize, to my horror, that I just asked that of a complete stranger.)
Moi (to Nick): So you fell behind and I just asked that kid-
Nick (to me): Yeah, I know. It was pretty funny.
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