Imagine a Steamy Bathroom

So steamy that you can’t clearly see the walls of the room. It’s not too hot, rather, just on the warm side of comfortable, but with a slight draft of cooler air now and then, stirring around the foggy air.

That’s what my Thursday run was like. My familiar town, along my familiar route, but shrouded in a thick veil of evening fog. The cool and the warm air seemed to compete with one another. Occasionally the fog would thin a bit, and I could see a house or a building, but it would quickly be swallowed by another wave of fog.

The moist air was really good for my waning chest cold. Like a steamy shower, the moisture seemed to penetrate and loosen some of the remaining congestion.

The really creepy horror show moment came on my way back, when a very loud, disembodied voice shouted out just a few feet in front of me: “Ooooooh! It’s a strike for #23.” It scared the hell out of me. Especially since I knew I was a good quarter of a mile from the ballpark where the high school softball game was underway. Luckily no one could see me flinch like mad, and I didn’t scream.

I guess the fog’ll do that to a sound.

Happy to say though, that I made it home without interdimensional monsters sucking my soul.