It was not fog, as you thought. It was smog.

The smog curled between the streetlamps and the spokes of the wrought iron framework. It seemed through your body and into your bones.

We're still struggling in a fog of volatility that may obscure the fact the market is, or may be close to, bottoming,

1954. Smog prevents airplanes from landing and ships from docking for three days.

You never really write the obituary on smog days,

Life is short, Say it all.