reporter, blogger, songwriter, cat toy.



Fog rolled deep, socking in the ride along the reservoir before easing up on our way inland, then murking up the plunge down from the tunnel, walling in the bridge into the city, then evaporating when I looked up at midday before slow dragging across the skyline as evening slid down like an eyelid.

Foggy white morning sky hangs being two highway signs dividing  Interstate 80 traffic on the left into westbound lanes into San Francisco and eastbound lanes on the right toward Berkeley and Sacramento.




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