Today the fog ploughed in, damp and close. The boardwalk emptied our bikes into deep sand and nothing else, the edge of the earth. Everywhere, laughter; waves, voices, playful dogs, but nothing to see for it, like a dream. Now and then we would stumble upon shapes in the mist, or they would stumble upon us, fellow travelers in a foreign world. “Lousy day for it,” they would invariably say, but gaily, without breaking the spell.