Conversation · Feld Mural

The writing rises in front of you, its ancient carton wet from the coastal air.

What am I doing here?

WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? A terrible cold comes over you as you think the words. They echo in your skull, alien suddenly.

As if said by someone else. Someone outside you. Around you. Not you.

The lieutenant looks at you shiver, worried suddenly. "We should go. It gets cold if you stand in one place too long."

"Looks like tomorrow never came." The lieutenant raises the collar of his bomber jacket.