Evan cinches the hood of his parka and follows the approaching dusk back through the city. The morning's slush has already turned icy, so he eventually abandons the sidewalk for the gutter - they've at least been salting the roads. Three blocks from his apartment, Evan spots a photocopied flyer for a band he started in college, pasted hastily to a bollard. They never discussed this as a code, but his heart is already in his throat: something's wrong.
He shakily pulls the cigarette from behind his ear, and tries to think of another viable destination for the route he's been taking.