Fog rolled deep, socking in the ride along the reservoir before easing up on our way inland, then murking up the plunge down from the tunnel, walling in the bridge into the city, then evaporating when I looked up at midday before slow dragging across the skyline as evening slid down like an eyelid.

Stayed in, out of trouble and off the street, all too aware of the odds I’ll be following some folk one way or another tomorrow or soon after. Just cloudy enough not to see much when the time was right, but a few signs that those who tried got something for their efforts. That’ll have to be enough.

North along the interstate, over a bridge and into and through a town I rarely visit, and then to one I went to once, chasing law enforcement transparency of all things. There, we found a roadway with our name and, not far or long after, packages to take (and maybe remake) home with a little help.

Intense memories, from the trash can on the truck’s side, to old coworkers, to the woman rolling down her window to yell about letting her over, to the blue and white peeling paint on the wall next to the similarly partly sunny sky on my way back from the neighborhood I’d not been to in a minute.

I feel like I keep leaning into a few things because I find they work and hope they’re useful. I need to spend more time pruning things (not to mention the Other Stuff), but also more time separate from on-the-clock production. Off to the More Time Store I go, as soon as someone points out the way.

Unsettled skies and uneven altitudes today, even looking at parts of the horizon and seeing uneven applications of clouds. Ha: “clouds” and “applications”! But also a couple of rides in backseats with rare-for-me views, leaving me snapping images like a tourist in this town.

Home, after a day outside and far away, with even more happening on a day somewhere between off and on. We went nowhere, not far from each other but never underfoot except for the obvious minor accountings, major spacing out and a mad dash through Matt Ruff’s “The Mirage” for reasons.

I wasn’t expecting to take the bus for the second Sunday in a row. Still, here I was at the end of a long day with a waiting driver in front of me behind the wheel of a route that took me almost all the way I needed to go. It moved fast for being a non-express version of the line too. Just lucky?

Another stretch of hours broiling under clear high pressure, with only a solitary groaning flyby to deal with and a lot of obviously sourced bad vibes. Still, there was dark clear ramen, brothy and hot with a side order of karaage with a little plastic dish of amazing tamarind sauce to get through.

I sat in a chair again and let skilled professionals take over my long neglected mouth for several hours. The next time I see them, the odds are good that I could spend at least that long there. After last month, I asked them to turn off the TV on a nearby wall. Nothing on would be any distraction.