Watering his pansies in their pots with his ridiculous watering can. Sticking his finger in the soil to test the dampness. Obviously nothing on beneath the silk robe. It’s almost fallen loose a dozen times Balding. Maybe in his late forties. S

Snow fell against the windows casting shadows that danced like fireflies or flame—he couldn’t make out which for sure. He’d tumbled and bounced from balcony to balcony, the snow calming with the winds and gently falling, now.