The leaden-gray clouds were pressing very low, as if they were trying to push this city, which had just experienced the intrusion of the remnants of San Francisco, into the depths of the frozen soil. On the bluestone road in the North Market, the snow was blackened by the hooves of horses, and mixed with ice particles and made a crunching sound. Suddenly, a dazzling purple lightning tore through the clouds and landed on the old elm tree at the corner of the street - instead of breaking off the branches, it seemed like a shadow wrapped in lightning fell out of thin air. It hit the icy road with a thud, stirring up a half-foot-high snow mist.
"What did God bring down?" The old man selling frozen pears wrapped his cotton-padded jacket tight and looked around, only to see a strange-looking man curled up in the snow.
The clothes the man wore were something I had never seen before. They were as gray as burlap, yet smooth and shiny. There was a hard shell on his head, which was full of tiny holes. What's even more surprising is that he is holding a black box tightly in his arms, and the corner is knocked on the stone, making a strange "sizzling" sound, which is like a firecracker that has not been completed in the first month of the year.
