Well, here we were, a few weeks back on the night the fog snuck in. Fog isn’t a thing unfamiliar, but it’s something people remark upon around here - hell, here I am still thinking about it. Fog isn’t dispatched to this region too often, the reason for which I’m sure isn’t too difficult to procure. My nearly a quarter-century worth of living hasn’t taught me too many truths, but I’m pretty certain we’re all shallow aesthetes, so let’s not tarry too long on the science behind beauty. This was a good fog, that’s all that needs saying. This picture is mostly of concrete and a weird intersection with the cardinal directions written within it. In this location, I once saw that individual who inspired this online scribbling:
I spotted a woman with a blond wig carelessly plopped on the top of her head with breasts the size of…well, after shouting an explicative that nearly caused a wreck, I described them as “perfectly cylindrical buoys.” They were the stupidest damn things I’ve ever seen. Even a camel would be shocked by that stock of fat.
- November 6, 2010
But, I digress. You should’ve seen the way the light shone through the fog, creating odd shadows for the Spanish moss. Sometimes I feel like packing up and getting going, other times I think there are limits to the distance I’m willing to move. And christ, I’ll sound ridiculous, but those boundaries may be described as being within the borders of where the live oaks grow.
Well, who knows. Minds change like the weather - predictably and always, but we never fail to act surprised. What I do know is that I have a kitten and someone’s building me a bar and everything’s alright right now.
