The snow fell, cleansing the city and our souls. Looking out at the crisp whiteness, untouched and fresh, like a newborn baby's memory, she longed for the blanket to wrap her up, to briefly change the surface of her body into something so untouched and pure. A feeling tugged at her, a feeling that crept into the outer corners of her mind. It was a common thought, but its frequency only made her confusion more intense. A longing for home, but a homesickness for a place that had never existed. She had no sense of home, no place in her past that she wished to return to. The feeling of homesickness began to overwhelm her, as the memories flipped though her mind like a finger filing through a rolodex, looking for that last name it knows is there but can never find. Tears well up in her eyes, unable to find a spot that would satisfy the groping feeling, no home to feel sick over, no memory to fill the wanting void.


A week passed and the beautiful intact snow had turned into little mounds of grey, confettied with gravel, orange-creme cigarette butts, flecks of green, red, and blue paper of ripped up scratch off lottery tickets, crumpled business cards, and watered down illegible UPS stickers, packages that will be left unclaimed. The filth of it all was equally representative of the layers of their souls, clean and true one day, dirty and unforgiving in their perversion the next. She wished to spend her day on the streets, in the dirt, at one with the grime under her fingernails and the grime on the streets of her city.