Then winter came, as it often does, once a year. Alex was strolling on the streets of his city. This city felt right, as if not real, or perhaps all too real. I do not know. Snow was falling, somewhere, not there. It was cold and the sun shone, dimly, warming everything and everyone who wasn’t there. I wasn’t there. Alex was. Alex was purple. Alex was purple from the cold. Alex was purple from the cold sores that covered his soul. Alex was purple from the cold sores that covered his soulless body. This can go on. I will stop now…

Alex was strolling on the streets of his city.

This city was heavily decorated. Gold, green, scarlet red waves of colour were breaking on the sidewalks; were washing the high building walls. How high? High enough. Enough for what? I do not know. Oh, yes! I do. High enough to stand above the colours. The trees were, What about the trees? Let me finish goddamn you. Let’s not bring her into this. Bring who in? God, of course. Ah.

The trees were sitting. The trees were sitting on wooden chairs. The trees were sitting on wooden wicker chairs, while lampsnakes encircled softly their joyous trunks.
No, the lampsnakes had a change of heart. Or of bulb. I do not know. And they constricted angrily their terrified trunks. When their barks bled, it felt tragic. I know. Feelings should merit no importance. This is science. Alex isn’t crying. No. Alex excretes saline fluid.

“Psst!” someone psst-ed.
Alex turned and saw a grey door, on a grey concrete wall.
“Open it!” the voice said.
“Ok. But how?”
“Turn something! Quick.”

So Alex turned something. It was his body. Alex turned and saw a grey door, on a grey concrete wall. This went on. For a year. Then winter came, as it often does, once a year.