twenty-five november
ten : oh-seven p.m.

hunched over, scribbling incoherent worthless babble. sealed it up, sent it off, then looked outside.

i can hardly see across the street. the fog is so thick, i could swim in it. i stood by the window, just breathing, inhaling the clouds.

the edges are blurred. the trees and the street lamps and the buildings are all one collective haze.