It's like someone had put a blanket over you and your hearing is slightly muffled. Even the people right next to you feel far away, as if you aren't quite where they are. The quiet isn't calming. The air feels tense like the world is waiting. The casual chatter of people can't help but feel like a build up. But to what? The yellow sky, stained that way by desert dust, seems to be bigger than usual. Like it has taken a deep breath and is waiting to breathe out. Maybe that's what we're waiting for. The brown leaves coat the pavement, and they tumble along, scratching the ground as they pass and jumping over one another to get where they're going. You hadn't even noticed the breeze but then you do and it feels like it is trying to run away from the sky. A plastic bag joins the leaves, and gets picked up and thrown into the air, where it dances, its red and white stripes contrasting the mustard sky. The street seems to extend and stretch out in front of you like a dream sequence in a film and your walk seems like it will take forever, even though you feel like you are moving faster than a run, gliding so fast you might never stop, keeping time with the scratching leaves and racing breeze.