Label: Spring Break Tapes
The fog could be the only anchor you had to life outside the bubble. It felt like a clock made of pressure and water droplets and air. We added to and took from it with our breathing. Some afternoons on Fulton, walking uphill towards the park, it felt like personalized rain. It was there to help us. It kept things alive, if causing limited visibility and a few car crashes.
I bottled some before we left. As a joke, maybe. "It'll be nice to take this along." I didn't intend it as theft, or as a prank. I didn't have any idea I'd be saving the last of a sentient lifeforce on the brink of extinction.
This is what it remembers about its life in the last days of the Sutro fog.