A morning like any other. Well, at least that’s what I think. The world outside must be the same as yesterday… Nope, there it is, that power some will call God and others climatic change, to show me the universe might be a lot of things but predictible. I walk out the room towards the bathroom and a snow rain (literally, none porno metaphores), falls at the other side of the living room’s window. Awesome. I go back to my room: “hon, it’s snowing”, I say with an unknown heat in my voice after waking up. She, still in the mental struggle to defeat the cold and rip the sheets out of her body, answers with a half dead “aha”. Like it happens all the time! If I said the backstreet boys were in the living room completlely naked, things would be very different.
A couple of hours later we step on the street with clear minds, clean bodies and our best antifreezing suits. This is what appears before us:
It’s snowing. It’s snowing hard. And at sea level. It occurs to me maybe destroying the ecosystem wasn’t such a bad idea after all. The camera gets wet. “Come on, run”, “comiiiiiiing”. People covers with no success under jaquets, waterproof coats and umbrellas.
¡It’s war! Everybody walks on the streets in a flurry. Those who work stare outside from inside their customers empty stores. Waiters, on the other hand, move crazy from table to table, serving hot chocolate, coffes and other stuff, not even noticing the snow. We head to the dubbing school, inside our coats and dodging pedestrians, under the miserable protection of a broken umbrella. We arrive to the metro station. “Do we get in or do we go on foot?” We can’t make a choice. Anyway we start walking while I argue something stupid about how close we are. Two steps further we turn back and enter the metro, like absorbed for a friendly force: the subterranean heat. My feet are wet. I put my hood away and some snow falls into my pullover and slides through my back: Good morning, friends! After a line transfer and three or four stops we are in the street again. What we see is not much better.
The floor is slippy, all covered in mood and footsteps. A viscous and brown fluid which used to be white and fragile fills the sidewalks and the asphalt. Little avalanches fall on the pedestrians like cluster bombs from balconies and roofs. This is better than medal of honor. We reach the school at last. We go in. “Hi, wassup…” We record a take, “come on, we are closing because nobody came”. The official version is they close for the students safety. I don’t clock in until eight, so we stay in the bar talking about life, love and other nonsense stuff with some school mates and the teacher.
Great day. I hope yours was even better.