(no subject)
December is a cruel month in Austria, a frozen month, but the roadways and pathways of Vienna are yet too busy during the daytime for much of the winter snow to stick for very long. But when night falls, and the temperatures drop, so too do the numbers who brave the icy wind-tunnels of the old and winding streets. There's enough snow, now, to make the journey from curb to carpet rather hazardous for the high-heeled, glittering women that emerge, on sharp-suited arms, from the gleaming automobiles that pull up in front of the Vienna Opera House.
The building too glitters, the slim columns and elaborate curlicues of its facade frosted over, and twinkling in the yellow glow of street lights. The snow that falls gently even now collects in crevices and on window-ledges, and softens the palatial profile against the night sky.
As the cream of Vienna files past, one man stands a little to the side, breath misting in the cold air. He draws a glance or two, but it's unlikely that anyone so far has noticed the circle of melted snow in which he stands, or the fact that (apart from the few flakes that dust the shoulders of his coat and his dark hair, in a nod to verisimilitude) the snow does not seem to touch him at all.
The building too glitters, the slim columns and elaborate curlicues of its facade frosted over, and twinkling in the yellow glow of street lights. The snow that falls gently even now collects in crevices and on window-ledges, and softens the palatial profile against the night sky.
As the cream of Vienna files past, one man stands a little to the side, breath misting in the cold air. He draws a glance or two, but it's unlikely that anyone so far has noticed the circle of melted snow in which he stands, or the fact that (apart from the few flakes that dust the shoulders of his coat and his dark hair, in a nod to verisimilitude) the snow does not seem to touch him at all.