Copenhagen

Today was very dreary, and I thought about Copenhagen. Everywhere I went the lights were either dim or off, and outside the inversion blocked out a great majority of the sun's warm rays. It was dismal and frigid.

With an audible shiver I pulled my jacket around my body tighter, adjusted my scarf, and rubbed my hands together as I walked back to my apartment. It was all very much like a scene in a movie.

As I walked I focused on my visible breath. I'm always enthralled by the entropic movement of the steam as it rises and diffuses into the air. My thoughts reverted back to the winters of elementary school, when we'd pretend to smoke as we waited outside for school to start. I imagined a person standing on a curb somewhere, lighting up a cigarette, and casually blowing the carcinogenic smoke into the foggy air.

My low spirits weren't assisted by the emptiness of my apartment when I arrived. Wishing I had a fireplace to warm up next to, I lay on my bed and imagined a photographer sitting in his Copenhagen apartment -- a monochromatic room as gray as the black and white pictures he'd snapped in the park that day.