h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

I love the fog, especially when it is cotton thick and sticks to my skin like sweat. i love the fog because it reminds me of Santa Cruz redwoods and midnight shuttles slicing through the whiteness with twin yellow lances.

I love the fog as i sit on the balcony and imagine shadows forming and dissolving, dark and light blended such that one can not tell which is the paint and which the background.

I love the fog because i can walk into it, be surrounded, and I can forget the rest of the petty world. in the fog i imagine being the last person and everything else has been destroyed by the bombs. In the fog i am bogart and you are bergman clinging one more time before you fly from Casablanca.

I love the thick white coastal fog. Not J. Alfred Prufrock's erotic yellow fog curling about London chimneys. Not the brown haze of LA. I love the fog when you speed up Highway 1 to San Francisco, barely seeing beyond an armslength to either side. Your only visual guide are the yellow globes projected ahead and the yellow and white flashes from the reflectors in the center of the road.

Fog is beautiful. Fog is my friend.