On Saturday a friend and I took a trip to the coast in celebration of our birthdays, which are separated by 8 days.
Autumn has descended, fog trailing behind. My printer did not cooperate with Mapquest, so we navigated from my quickly scrawled directions and, as one might expect, became lost. Worse, the gas tank hovered near empty, with nary a filling station in sight. Miles passed, breath held as the gauge clicked south. We finally spotted a small peninsula dotted with mildewed houses; she parked and I walked the streets in search of precious fuel.
The fog insulates. The road was lined with parked cars, but not a soul walked the street. No sounds of music playing, no dogs barking, no baby cries. Even the fire station slept.