Frank turned right at an intersection next to his house, the roaring of the wind and the hubbub of early traffic whistling past him. He stayed to the far right of the sidewalk, his eyes strained due to the poor lighting provided by street lamps. It was very early in the morning, he guessed; he was fortunate to have left at this time just after the extreme crime ended and the busyness of New York began. His feet sank into snow at least a foot deep, but he ignored the freezing, numb feeling of cold and pressed on. There was hardly anyone driving or walking apart from the scattered homeless. Frank was terrified to glance left or right, as snores emanated from dark, snowy alleys. The intermittent disruptions of the otherwise eerie silence caused him to flinch, and the pondering silence made it appear as though it determined Frank’s fate.