Always hope for a sunny day and deal with the fog like a fisherman.

So the lights were bright.

Fog lights.

The fog horn sounded every 7 seconds to identify our quaint harbor.

We started polishing glasses at the Hook, Line and Sinker pub.

Music filtered through foggy leaves as the busker brought bright songs of fortune.

A Ferrari had the exhaust tone to cut through this obscured scene and the color of course, to brighten a deep cave.

Storied and stored.