Dear fog,

You have taken over the city of Chicago like a horror film.  Like we're San Francisco. 

You ate the skyline.  Each building gone, as if it was taken up in the rapture prematurely. 

You made the lake disappear.  You made the parks into puddles of haze.  You gave the streetlights halos. 

You made the ride down Lakeshore Drive unfamiliar, I could only see fifty feet in front of us. 

What is this?


love,
hannah