Snow Over The City
As I ride the EL, I look out over the city, under a blanket of new-fallen snow. So pure. So clean. So fake. For, under the coating of beautiful, white snow lies sin, dark and evil.
There are places where the snow is stained red with the blood of young men and women struggling to find their identity, their place in this crazy, messed-up world. There are places where discarded needles, still hot with traces of the death that passed from syringe to vein, break the otherwise unsullied surface of the snow.
Cellophane baggies glisten with a snister sparkle, their contents long gone, but the effects lasting a lifetime. Broken beer bottles form a twisted mosaic, their browns and greens forming an almost pastoral image. A discarded condom, a reminder of an illicit inerlude or an exchange of service for profit, lies preserved under a layer of ice like a fly in amber.
The falling snow doesn’t change any of these occurences. It simply covers them up and makes them look “pretty” to the untrained eye. But the evil, the sin, still lurks just below the surface.