…when mist descends properly over a town. Not visually, of course, but the familiar sounds of everyday suddenly take on a sinister air, echoing out of the mist towards you and filling your mind with uncomfortable thoughts.
These pictures were taken back in March, when the fog filled the street outside my window and broke me from my writing routine. I HAD to get out and mooch around in it. I saddled up Trigger, and here’s what we found….
When I got home, I put the Frank Darabont’s The Mist on, and kicked my pants over the arm of the couch, figuring I’d get ‘em off before it scared ‘em off. Just as well I did.