Close to 4pm. Fine-grained snow, or ice, floating through the emptiness of the afternoon street. Wind hasn't much calmed down so it's all about an endless amount of white spot dancing in random patterns, following very individual traces to eventually end up on a window, a roof or the head of one of the grim cyclists leaving the city behind. Answering queries, rectifying technical decisions, trying to find a working state for everything affected by both. (A late, reactive mode of work.)