Fog

When I woke up this morning, all the backdrop painters were still in bed. Heading in to the station, the world only existed for a few metres in any direction. Out beyond that, it faded into white - no buildings went up more than two floors, and the park only had trees planted close to the road. I stared up at the featureless white sky, searching for the sun, and thought, "it's a hell of a job, painting all that every morning. You'd think they'd leave the world set up overnight..."

"This machine will, will not communicate
These thoughts and the strain I am under
Be a world child, form a circle
Before we all go under
And fade out again
and fade out again
- Radiohead, "Street Spirit"