In shapeless, well-worn trousers, he stands at his open door. There's nothing more he can do now. As an afterthought, he goes back inside. Dark furniture. Opens this drawer and that drawer. He knows it's here somewhere. Knows what he's doing is futile but doesn't know it not analysing it. It just helps, that's all: helps to keep moving.
A single snow flake falls. I put my hands on the radiator and feel its warmth spreading through my hands.