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December 28, 2002
‘The city… somehow it seemed belonged to them’, he thought. We made it ours. They knew every inch of those streets and every inch knew them. And now only ghosts and shadows remain, as if he were watching random scenes torturously being replayed over and over in his mind. The city was now blanketed in snow, some mocking twist of what they once knew. It was the same… but not. It was dirty from soot and mud being splashed about., and everything was dead. That comforted him. But spring would be here soon enough, and the daffodils will again bloom.