Mario: A Lost Boy. Picture Books for the Elderly, #7

Most of the time I feel hollow. There is no real me. Like an open window the wind blows through. And that is what the night is like. The noise lowers. I feel peaceful. Out of time. Winter is nirvana. The burb is bright with the snow on the ground and the street lights. The crunch beneath your feet. Sometimes you might see a cat pounding through the snow trying to escape to someplace warmer. You don't see many kids.
I loved it out there. Except for the distant sounds of a highway, it was quiet. At times it felt as if all human life had been removed and there was just me. And the wind howling.