The same scene, just different

Frost forms on the cars in swirling, flowing patterns. The tarmac sparkles and the orange aura continues to glow through the night. Smoke rises vertically upwards into the star strewn sky. There's so little wind. Breath fogs up the glass, a click of the key in the lock and speeding mopeds whizzing along the main road. Someone walks along the pavement. The shoes cracking, clacking on the rough solid ground. Head bent to the ground with a hood concealing the identity that a face represents. Warm breath, condenses, hiding it even more. They pass. Presenting no danger. It feels different now.