June 27, 2012
I step out of the restaurant and the city is gone. A thick luminescent mist had swallowed the castle and the hill, is nibbling on the roofs and the streetlamps. The statute at the top of the hill has lost its head. Itís warm, and the sounds are muffled. I climb up and walk past the invisible fortress, poking holes in the mist with the sharp turrets. The giant Olympic logo hovers above a flowerbed, floodlights ready to kick in. A couple is kissing on a street corner; he peels off, hard and independent now, disappears in the mist.