On an early summer day, I spotted this fogpatch ahead on the Verrazano Narrows Bridge.
Moments later, I was in the soup.
But only for a moment. Strangely enough, just a few hours before I had been walking down West 120th St in Manhattan, under the clearest of blue skies, when a light rain began to fall. Strangers looking up, making meaningful eye contact, like we were in Close Encounters of the Third Kind.