Last night when I took the dogs out back to play fetch (rather for Vinnie to play fetch; Boris gets involved of games and plots fathomable only by him) there was a lot of fog. So deep that black dogs at night were invisible at the end of the garden. So thick that the lights of 82nd Ave, a few blocks east, glowed like the street was on fire.
Thankfully no possums stalked the shrouded night, tendrils of mist curling around their naked pink tails.
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