382
On a street deep in the East Borough.
Old Kohler hurried back to his rented apartment, clutching a ham wrapped in a paper bag.
He looked around warily, afraid those people whose eyes gleamed like wolves' from hunger would pounce on him and snatch away his "New Year's gift."
He had seen wolves back in the countryside, but he had never expected to experience that familiar feeling in Backlund.
"It was still too expensive and too big. I could only buy one with other people and saw it into portions... This will be enough for Tyler and me over the New Year holiday. We can have two slices with every meal, three-no, at least five slices of ham. I can cut some off and stew it with potatoes, too. I won't even need salt..." At that thought, Old Kohler looked down at the ham in his arms, at the red meat marbled with plenty of white. His throat bobbed involuntarily as he swallowed.
As he walked, he noticed the fog around him had thickened considerably. The church bell tower that had been fairly clear in the distance was gradually swallowed by a mixture of pale yellow and iron black. Even the pedestrians around him were reduced to blurry silhouettes beyond ten paces.
Old Kohler suddenly felt as though the world had forgotten him. He raised a hand to cover his mouth and nose.
"Why does the fog smell so awful today?" he muttered, quickening his pace.
One step, two steps, three steps. Old Kohler felt his face growing hot, his forehead seemingly burning.
His chest tightened and his throat felt uncomfortable. Soon, he began having trouble breathing.
"Am I sick? Damn it, I wanted to have a lovely New Year. Now I'll have to give my savings to a