Fog
By heinzs
Fog Thick grey misty blanket, imbued with a damp chill that seeks out and clings to bones, the fog obscures the oncoming day. A dank laziness pervades morning's usual routine. Each step, each action taken as if in a somnambulant trance expends reluctant energy desperately seeking the snooze alarm. One red sock and one blue - dressing in the dark again - doomed to another day's ridicule from lesser minds that people the world. Trapped and struggling in a mental haze that somehow feels heavier than the external physical phenomenon, attention suffers an irreparable lapse. "I don't know, officer. He came through the red light - never even tried to stop. Like he musta fallen asleep behind the wheel. Guess someone'll hafta tell his folks. Ther' ain't much left - poor sap." 11-20-2001Here's the original "Fog" reposted. Written January 16th, 2002 © on Jan 16 2002 09:41 AM PST, Heinz Scheuenstuhl 0 • 1
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"Fog ..."