The weeping child walks barefoot in the chilling cold. He crosses his city divided in two, eastern and western. The tearful city walks barefoot in front of him. We reach the Iron Gate: soldiers have borrowed a couch from the debris to take a break from the war. They have borrowed the debris but the war has not ended. They did not sit. They burnt the couch. Anything to get some warmth, anything to fight the snow. In Aleppo there are “signs of life”, of a previous life. Debris, debris and more debris. Stray cats and dogs. Everyone is fighting the cold, but the cold is defeating everyone. The soldiers, people who are leaving or returning. There are no winners or losers. Just a devastated city.