A fog horn blows in the distance as we sit still on a wooden bench, cup of tea in hand (Earl Gray w/ 1 spoon of sugar), watching the fog roll over the still onyx waves. The tower casts its light onto the ocean water, illuminating the darkened treasures lurking just beneath.
Cold bites the tip of your nose, and you curl your blanketed toes in a feeble attempt to keep the piggies warm. A smile creeps onto your face and a strand of hair ambles its way past your ear and onto your nose.
A sip. A smile.
I am drifting.