The Fog on Clement Terrace: Zero Stars. It Did Not Disclose Itself.
I did not go looking for the fog. The fog came for me. This is the first and perhaps only interesting thing it has done, and I will not be rewarding it for the audacity.
It appeared — if one can even use so decisive a verb — on Clement Terrace at approximately a quarter past nothing, without signage, without a host, without so much as a laminated menu of what I was expected to inhale. Visibility was poor. Mine, I mean. The fog appeared perfectly comfortable with itself, which I found arrogant. It had no edges I could locate, no discernible concept, and a texture I can only describe as aggressively noncommittal. I have worn overcoats with more presence. I have reviewed overcoats with more presence. Several of them gave me more of a fight.
Quince called it "atmospheric." Quince says this about everything, including the parking structure on Bridle Mews, and I have stopped asking Quince for second opinions. Pomelo, to his credit, said nothing, but he was also not there, so I am not sure that counts.
Most damningly: I am told that Tangelo and Mango — those relentless confabulators at factjuice.com — recently published a so-called "fact" regarding fog formation that Tangelo described as "scientifically grounded." Tangelo has never been grounded in his life. The fog, I now suspect, was planted. I cannot prove this. I am not required to.
It dispersed before I could complete my notes, which is exactly what a coward does. Zero stars. It will not be missed. It was not, technically, here.