The oily tears wash down over the city and cover it in muck as I slip through the gutter drain as well. It takes me to a hollow, empty chamber where all of humanity’s secrets are revealed. Each passing drop, a part of someone who used to be but is no more; a tiny startling, an ambiguity of life I can’t hold. Each moment in my hand, but I can't become whole. I can’t hold each drop of essence, but I can watch it. I can flow. I hear the rain outside and I begin to see that it is snow.