It was as if renagade waves, under the absent eye of the new moon, decided to spray their white heads further up shore, to rise above the shore line and inundate the city with dense fog, flooding the streeets, cloaking the shoulders of high rise apartment buildings, meandering the streets, chasing cars, hiding away the beach and ocean in its shadowy recesses. Stepping out into the street was like walking into a dream....
It was a thrilling effect...everywhere you went was a bit magical. You had to trust your instinct that there indeed was a crosswalk off in the distance and that at the end of the grey tunnel of fog there was a bus stop.
Would you understand if I said that in not being able to see much of anything I saw much more of everything? As I looked with a sharp eye at where I was going small details popped out that I'd glossed over before...the colors, the windows, the storefronts, the lights....Malaga was finally alluring. It was finally a city that I could handle, it invited me to explore, it didn't parade itself in flamboyance demanding my adoration or my departure. I must have been the only one that felt that way though. Everyone else muttered, "What a terrible cloud...can't see a thing...impossible to move...who did this....will never find my friend....how can the buses drive...will have a flight delay without a doubt."
I just grinned, staring out into the thick fog from my bus seat, loving that the city was blind.
Finally, a chance to wander through ambiguity, without getting lost.
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