Nebulousness

There's going to be a spectacular sunset tonight.

I opened the break room door and stepped out into the main basin this afternoon only to find myself unable to finish a half-inhaled breath. Lungs seized, throat burning, I thought, "where there's smoke, there's fire." And there is, somewhere over the Utah border, burning soggy sagebrush and grass and scrub cedar, sending a pungent, incongruously summery stink on the artificially heated spring air into the concrete rectangle of space I inhabit six to eight hours a day. Luckily, I won't be babysitting the SCADA while the three underground tanks outside rapidly drain to fight a fire in town. I sped home and slunk into the cool, clean, dark atmosphere of my basement apartment to nurse my stricken lungs, and here I stay.

It is not my Friday anymore, but only temporarily.