“Your logic concerning the cause of the haze was fuzzy and cloudy. Those said clouds and fuzzes -were- the cause of the haze.”
I shall turn on the hot water tap.
And there shall be clouds.
Marjorie loves the broad evening sky: a huge, hundred mile canvas of ambrosia, piled massively like a heavenly feast but delicately shaded in purple, grey and blue. She would see more from the balcony, her concrete diving board – but the ground leaps at her like a tiger, murderous and terrifying, whirling and falling and leaping again.