Darkness has a weight to it. It envelopes everything like a heavy wool coat hanging off an old woman’s frail anorexic shoulders. She gropes her way in it, trying to find the sleeves so that she can at least have some pretense of stability. The coat smells of washed out smoke from its previous owners and their lives. There are blood stains barely visible on the silk inling that she does not pick up with her dimmed eyesight. She picks at the food stains that litter the coat in precarious spots in-between tugs at the hems and an attempt here or there to zip the monstrosity up. The cold seeps in and all she can do is give in to it. No time to…