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November 27, 2020
The city's ever-present fog, like San Francisco's Karl the Fog, has a name: Bob. At precisely 5 p.m. every day, Bob provides escape and clarity, a liminal space for people who don't want to head home quite yet—a non-place where someone can take a deep breath amid startling silence. By the lake, Bob commiserates. The city heaves a collective sigh of relief every time Bob resolutely rolls in. The city has lost so much this past year, yet in sadness it has found bliss. It knows now that the tragedy is when you don't know loss.