14 This old building. I tuck myself into a corner and listen to it breathe. The walls rumble. Ventilation ducts whoosh and the generator throbs. This old building, it’s alive. Heart and lungs. One or two long fluorescent bulbs still flicker in each room, even though the lights are out and I’m in darkness. It’s like—no matter how little they care about this lonely old place, it’s gonna keep going. This old building is a schoolhouse, when it’s not deadwinter. I guess they have to keep some power running so the pipes don’t freeze over. Lucky for me. I’m wrapped up in a couple layers of jacket, but it’s usually not below freezing in here. Better than outside. You can hear the old building shudder in the wind, sometimes. Other times, it’s dead silent out there and you wonder whether anyone’s left alive, because when you look out the window, it’s pitch black. From time to time when the darkness shifts, you can see little warm windows in the neighborhoods, even from this distance. But the streets, they’re dark. We don’t waste power on streetlights, or traffic signals, or shop signs. All our light is gone. It’s like the world dies in deadwinter—everyplace except this old building.
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