The following is a work of fiction.

Not Nick Nolte's Diary, Malibu, California
February 4, 2005


The fog rolled in this morning and hasn't let up. The house feels like it's wrapped in a cyclorama. Just after it rolled in, I walked the drivearound, groping for the paper. I felt like I was in a dream sequence. I ended up finding a pile of papers nobody had bothered to collect. They were halfway to becoming earth, as sodden as they were with the January rain. Then twin beams of light cut across the mist and I heard someone speed up the road. The engine roared, but I couldn't see it. The fog curled behind the car like knuckles on a barefisted streetfighter. If I had had my old angenieux with me, I'd have made a Jaguar commerical out of it. Brighten up, Diary.

[signed] Nick

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