You trudge through snow. Crunch over ice. Slide on frozen puddles. Sidewalks have turned into trenches. You zig and zag, following the footprints of a thousand past pedestrians. Not a single step is easy.
Your city hasn’t excelled at snow removal, this year. And the snowfall has been heavier than normal—storm after storm, the bluffs freezing in place. Ploughs rumble past. Neighbors push snowblowers down pavement, spurting geysers of white. But the progress remains slow and arbitrary. Whole blocks are still clogged; walkers stagger into the street, as cars arc around them.
Yet the patterns fascinate you—the tracks beaten into curbs and corners. Boot-pressed craters. Fossilized tread marks. Crude shortcuts to the nearest crosswalks. Human traffic, printing labyrinths into the snow. A record of the city’s mobile life, inscribed with feet.
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