24 hrs of stillness

24 hours of stillness

I woke up cold. Freezing, actually. Because apparently past-me thought leaving the window open in the middle of the night was a great idea. I dragged myself up to close it and that's when I noticed something strange — silence. Complete, total, eerie silence. In the city. Where there are literally nine million people.

Then I saw it: a bird in the sky, perfectly still. Not gliding, not flapping — frozen, like someone paused the world.

I leaned out from my fifth‑floor window. Cars, people, bikes — all stuck in mid‑motion. A taxi door half‑open. A guy reaching for his coffee. A woman’s scarf caught in the wind that wasn’t blowing.

"I need coffee," I muttered, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the vacuum. I brewed a chocolate hazelnut blend, heavy on the peppermint mocha creamer, and sat by the window. The world stayed paused. It wasn't a dream—or if it was, it was the most high-definition dream I’d ever had.

I showered, shaved, got dressed, grabbed my bike, and headed out. In the lobby, my doorman Roger stood with his hands folded, statue-still. "What's up, Rod?" Nothing. Not a word, not a blink. Out on the street, it was the same story — every car, every person, every pigeon locked in place. A city-sized photograph.

Am I dreaming? I hopped on my bike and rode through the gridlock, weaving between motionless taxis and suspended coffee cups mid-sip. Two hours of riding. Same thing everywhere I went.

Eventually, hunger set in. Then it hit me — every restaurant with a long line just became a walk-in. I rode straight to JG Melon. I'd heard the burgers were legendary and the wait was always brutal. Not today. I walked right in, spotted a waiter frozen mid-delivery — a perfect 7-ounce cheeseburger on a soft white bun, fries alongside — and politely relieved him of it. Found myself a table and dug in. I would've preferred mayo, mustard, lettuce, tomato, onion, and pickles, but you don't complain about a free burger with no wait.

The meal hit hard and I felt the fatigue set in. Riding past the Ritz-Carlton, I made a decision. Inside, I found the key to the holiday penthouse suite — beds made, room untouched, probably a casualty of the economy. I stretched out and slept for two solid hours, the kind of deep, boneless sleep that money usually buys.

On my way out, I passed the women's gym and locker room. Curiosity got the better of me. What I found was not what I'd imagined — just a few women in their mid-seventies, bad tans, freckles, every body part affected by gravity, nothing close to the fantasy. I kept moving like I had somewhere urgent to be.

Down in the valet lot, I hit the jackpot. Keys everywhere. I selected the most promising ones and went on what I can only describe as the greatest joyride in human history.

First: a late-model two-door Bentley, dark green, cream interior, the kind of car that makes you feel like you should be wearing an ascot. Smooth, fast, silent — a dream on wheels.

Second: a Porsche 911 GT3. Sweet mother of— that car was fast. I may have screamed. Once. Briefly.

Third: a Ford F-150 Raptor. That truck sat so high I needed a moment to emotionally prepare before getting in. I drove it through downtown feeling like I was piloting a building.

Several hours later, slightly dizzy and fully satisfied, I parked everything back neatly.

Hours passed. I thought about grabbing food or clothes from stores, but then wondered if security cameras still worked. Technically, I’d already eaten a burger, slept in a penthouse, and taken a few joyrides. If time suddenly snapped back, would I be on the hook for all that?

As the sun went down, I had one final idea. I found my way to the top of the tallest building I could access and looked out over the city — every light on, every street lit up, nothing moving. Completely silent. Honestly? Breathtaking. Like the whole city had been arranged just for me.

I stood up there for a while feeling very deep and contemplative about life and existence and the nature of time.

Then I went home and watched the frozen city from my window for an hour before falling asleep.

I woke up to a roar. Horns, shouting, the screech of brakes, and the rhythmic thumping of a jackhammer down the block. The city had resumed its frantic pace without missing a beat. I looked out the window, watching the chaos I used to hate, and wondered: Did I do something to trigger that silence and stillness? And how do I get back?