Pillow talk...


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There was a morning last year, toward the beginning of spring, when for the first time driving into work was like driving through a place I had never been before. The freeway kinks around the mountain, shrugs herself of the last vestiges of traffic and crests a hill, whereupon the harbour should be spread out to the right, a sight in equal parts mediocre and uninspiring. This particular morning was different. A thick mist had found a final resting place, threading itself innocuously through the city. The tips of the harbour cranes pierced through and it was impossible to tell where the harbour ended and the sea began. It was like stumbling upon the ruins of a city, a thing desolate yet strangely intoxicating. The remaining drive was accompanied by an unnatural hush; sirens and engines and city still cried out, only to be muffled by this cold grey pillow, a city suffocated for deeds unknown. It was a magical morning, one that soothes with the knowledge that for those who care to notice, the mundane can still be transformed to the mythical. If only I had that morning again, today would have been a good day...I'm sure of it. At least my anger has made for good company. Thanks to The Fence for the link.


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