The street is silent, save for the soft electric buzz of an old streetlamp overhead. A pale girl paces in circles beneath it, her arms crossed tightly and her fingers twitching against the sleeves of her black sweater. Her breath is sharp in the cold air.

She mutters rapidly to no one in particular, talking to herself. Her right foot is frozen in the air. She stumbles. Her voice rises in alarm.

— But, it's already the fifty-second! Or wait, I’m going backwards, so then it's the fiftieth…!? It doesn't add up!

Her body jerks as she halts. She seems to be ready to burst into tears, breathing fast. There’s no one near her, but she continues speaking anyway.

She seems to be talking to herself, or a voice in her head.

— Could you rephrase it just a little bit? You can’t just repeat a phrase without changing at least one word. People don’t talk like that! You make it sound like it’s my fault...