-18 Celsius

–18 degrees

The forecast said cold.

Not the kind that wakes you up, but the kind that slowly takes you away.

The city breathes differently at this time.

The doors of the stairwells close sooner.

The intercoms are quieter.

The "no"s are louder than the "come in".

But some people aren't out because they're bad.

And some people aren't out for no reason.

Some people made a mistake once.

Some people made too many.

Some people never had anyone else to learn from.

The cold doesn't ask.

It's not interested in the story.

It doesn't count the papers, the signatures, the applications.

The cold is just present.

Somewhere, a man is pulling his fingers into the sleeves of his coat.

He's not asking for help.

He's learned that sometimes asking is more expensive than silence.

He adjusts the edge of a piece of cardboard as if it were a bed sheet.

It's not.

But tonight it has to be.

A woman in the distance adjusts her shoes.

The soles have thinned like a memory.

He once had an apartment.

He once had a job.

He once had someone to go home to.

Now all he has to do is survive until morning.

And in the meantime...

somewhere far away, in warm offices,

numbers are moving in spreadsheets.

"Supply."

"Program."

"Resource."

The money is being sent.

And sometimes the help... doesn't get there.

Not because there are no good intentions.

But because it gets lost along the way.

Like a letter that is always forwarded,

but no one opens it.

But in the city, there are small movements.

A door left open for a few minutes.

A thermos that someone puts down without a word.

A staircase where today they don't ask you:

"Who are you?"

It doesn't solve it.

It doesn't save everyone.

But it does for one night.

And maybe that's the most a person can do for a person in times like these:

It doesn't change the system, it doesn't do justice, it just doesn't leave you completely alone in the cold.

Because at -18 degrees, the greatest luxury is not money, but having someone remember you.

And if someone survives tonight, tomorrow maybe they'll have time to be human again.

This story is not accusatory.

It's not naive either.

It just reminds you:

The cold doesn't discriminate - we need it.