“See? That’s what was going around in my head.
“An endless argument spin cycle.
“Point, counterpoint… all day long.”
In which the snow blows thicker and thicker.
To begin with it’s almost soft. It’s certainly softer than a sidewalk from six storeys up.
It tumbles across the sprawling city as far as the eye can see, which is further than you might think; especially when you’re on one of its rooftops, so precariously close to the edge and determined to jump.
From below the thick flakes recede, smaller and smaller, into the heavens which glow a rich, luminous turquoise, while below all is neon-lit for danger.
By the final four pages of the first chapter it’s a veritable blizzard in blinding, icing-sugar white, with wild flashes of thought and explosions of violence like landmines detonated in your head. Then, when it’s settled, there’s a moment of clarity – for Dylan at least.
He’s not going to kill himself. He’s going to kill other people instead.”