You're used to the acoustics of a toilful everyday, and though it bothers you, it is an indication of the earth going round. It stops today. The galloping tires tire today. The hordes ceased hollering; silence is strangling a busy city.
Gasping for air is useless as all the oxygen seems to bubble away at the sight of you. A blue bird approaches the window outside to sing, so you peek to watch it. Your eyes couldn't miss the moss coming from the inside, covering all the windows in the neighborhood. Kelp, too, embraces every corner of the tallest buildings.
The blue bird flies up and away, so your eyes follow. All flights, flocks, and murders are swimming through the sky harmoniously. Never has there been a day so blue. The clouds you wished to pass you are gone, or are at least out of your sight.
You look down upon the street to see people walking, sitting, driving their cars; all have a place to be or a place not to be, none seem to mind you, breathless. As you close the window, you lay your gaze on the reflection in the glass; that of a drowning fish. Perhaps it forgot how fish swim.