A cold, surprisingly dry winter's night. It's a lonely office complex building with dried leaves all around. The wind blows harder than it normally does, disturbing the leaves. They fly around causing small swirls, mini-typhoons all by themselves. The rustling is loud.
There's a lone figure walking out into this quiet storm.
I can almost hear the subway train passing by. And a voice from left off-screen. "Mr. Anderson...".
No comments:
Post a Comment