The type of snow falling now is the kind you see rarely in life but often in movies – large round flakes falling slowly in uniform patterns and sticking perfectly to the grass and pavement alike, perfect for leaving footprints in or making snowmen with. At this time of the night the shops are all closed, darkened storefronts displaying careful arrangements of aesthetically pleasing items. Itâ€™s a few days before Christmas, and the night is given a dream-like glow by the reflections of multicolored lights hanging from the roofs of houses in the snow. The only sound comes from the snow crunching under my feet and the occasional acoustic guitar strum in the backgroundâ€¦there isnâ€™t much to do at this hour, but thereâ€™s a certain romance I feel wandering this sleeping town on a winter night.
Back in the real world, itâ€™s hopelessly green outside for December 24th. Some stubborn, dirty snow piles cling to the corners of parking lots, and itâ€™s entirely too windy and cold to lure me outside for any reason. It certainly doesnâ€™t feel much like the type of atmosphere promised by all of the seasonal films theyâ€™re showing on TV this week.
Perhaps this is what prompted my return to the digital town of Brahms, a place I used to come to at least once a day for a good amount of time roughly a year ago. Returning to it now after so long yields a strange feeling of familiarity and foreignness – Iâ€™ve been here before, but itâ€™s not quite the same as it used to be. Everything is where it used to be, but the occupants of the houses are all different. My own home is filled with cockroaches and weeds and clover patches punctuate the snow-covered ground over every square inch of the townâ€¦ doesnâ€™t anyone know how to pull weeds in this place? (Clearly this is not the same pastiche of cleanly modern living seen in Nintendogs: your home and surroundings grow dirty and unkempt with neglect in this universe.) Yet thereâ€™s something about the music that takes me backâ€¦