The ocean was dazzling blue as I left late (finishing endnotes for a Texian article). Five minutes later there was no parking lot and no path and no beach and no ocean, only five or six tourists stumbling up the path to find their cars. That was OK as long as you try not to tell who is real down there and who is a fog phantom, but then toward where the Rock should have been the fog lifted and the Carhartt shirt with the pocket for the phone got too hot and then I realized it was steamy. Chicago, New Orleans, New York--remember humidity? Then on the way back, half way, puffs of cool air come from the water and it was back to the Magic Kingdom, for now. I knew the riders were real when they asked me to take pictures of them against the fog, where the water should have been.
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