Sunday, September 09, 2001

We sat out on the back deck at dixie, watching the people dash across the parking lot, holding jackets over their heards to block the rain because, of course, you're not really soaking wet if your hair stays dry. We watched the lightning alternate in flashes and streaks, and listened to the thunder, each rumble more deafening than the last. And we laughed, enjoying a much-needed break.

Later, I walked across the endless parking lot amidst this eerie low-hanging fog that was drifting along the pavement, and I almost felt like I was invading its territory.

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