invisible.

Sometimes you feel like there's a red string pulling you towards an event you can't avoid.  An event that will shape your death.  The people who run along the train platform to wave goodbye to their best friends.  The people who walk use the stairs and not the elevator.  That red string always feels like it's there -- but you never know what other strings might be pulling at your heart: threatening to dismember you into a grotesque mannequin of your own self.  Self-image.

      Wind chill.  This trench coat is quite handy.

            Morgan shuddered and stalked down 61st, violently aggravating the peaceful snow fallen onto the sidewalk.