The view in front of me is the same as every day at this time: in the distance a jumbled row of apartment buildings; in the middle distance, a deserted parking lot; in the foreground, an unused train platform, weeds sprouting from the the cracks and a pedestrian walkway suspended above it. The sky is a pale, listless blue, intermingled white and grey clouds scuding across it. The light from the setting sun, filtered through a light drizzle, steeps the world in a strange yellow hue and fills the air with a vague sense of foreboding. Foreboding of what, I cannot say.