invisible-artist

I suppose it was the setting that did it; the strange weather played with my head, and for an instant I thought I was someone else. It was ten o’clock at night, and I was walking the two or three blocks from my job at the library to my dorm. The campus is beautiful at certain times of the year. Dorms stand tall beside the paths, and trees and streetlamps vie for space on the grassy strips lining the sidewalks. That night was not one of those times. The fog had rolled in unexpectedly—at least to a certain someone who didn’t watch the news. The gray haze had somehow managed to sneak in during my two-hour shift like a cat stalkin