He was walking that morning before dawn. It was 24 degrees, with a tight wind that wound round his head and brought him tears. He was planting his feet carefully, small steps to find the rough patches, watching for black ice placed like a joke you could laugh about because you weren't going to fall for it. We stand to walk. Oftentimes we fall — for sleep, for dreams, for love's sake. Falling and falling, again and again.