it’s a smoky wet kiss that helps me greet this morning. a smoky wet kiss and the sound of truncated horns over distorted guitar. heavy lids, limbs and mind match the thickness in the outside air. the fog calls me “guv’ner”. the fog says “cheers”. this is a london fog on vacation, enjoying landlocked kc though pining for fresh fish and chips and a decent curry. a traveling london fog, looking for something similar to its own city’s foot traffic but only finding myriad kansas citians stepping from their flats to their vehicles, perhaps pausing long enough for a deep breath, a taste of london, the queen’s precipitation. but more than likely simply rushing to get to work.