He steps out of his apartment and finds himself somewhere else entirely; a time long past, a time best forgotten, and he's small. There's snow coating the ground, and the barren trees all have icicles dangling from them. His hands are cold, and he shoves them into his pockets to warm them, but it does no good. His hands are always cold.

From somewhere in the distance, he thinks he hears the sound of gunshots, of shouting, the sound of a child crying, and he sets off towards the noises, but no matter which direction he walks in, they just seem to get further away. Soon he finds himself lost amongst the trees, and though he keeps trying to turn back, to retrace his steps, he can't find his way back to his apartment. It might not even be here -- because here isn't the place he last remembered being.