Winter is coming

January 2024. Three days before Donald Trump’s inauguration, we arrive in New York, staying with friends in Red Hook. The city is draped in a heavy gray sky, and as the days pass, the first snowflakes begin to fall. The phrase Winter is Coming lingers in my mind—not just a reference to the season, but an omen of something looming, something no one is ever truly prepared for.

From the boat that carries us between Brooklyn and Manhattan, a building near the Brooklyn Bridge glows in the night, its neon letters spelling out "WELCOME." Really? Still? In the distance, cranes loom over the docks, their silhouettes eerily reminiscent of Empire Strikes Back’s AT-AT walkers—silent, imposing, unsettling.

Back in Red Hook, under the snow, metal gates block the entrance to an unmarked building. Harsh fluorescent lights cut through the darkness, illuminating only the snow on the ground—everything else remains in shadow. The scene resonates uneasily with the present moment—Trump is about to take the oath of office. Nearby, an American flag flutters sharply in a gust of wind.

Winter is coming.