I sat at a table, computer propped in front of me, legs crossed under the table, scarf draped around my neck, papers and film books strewn about the table. I sat back from my genre description, brought my arms to rest on the edge of the computer, folded my hands in front of my face. I glanced out the window, caught in the veracity of the swirling snow visible through a pane of glass outlined by solid concrete blocks. Brandi Carlile passionately sang "Hallelujah" from my itunes. The snow seemed relentless.
I saw the window, and the snow, and the bricks--but another part of me saw a girl, sitting at a table, looking out a window with hands folded in front of her face. As the music began crescendo-ing, I panned around her face, and quickly moved farther away in a sweeping motion on the outskirts of the room.
Fade.
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