The world this morning was like a Myiazaki film.
Fog blanketed the horizion, muffling most sounds. Subduing people.
Some piece of machinery beat a couplet tattoo. Sounding like a wooden mallet on a slab of steel. It remined me of Iron Town, guards hearalding the arrival of Lady Eboshi and her convoy. Whereas that felt warm, welcoming, bustling; to day felt like it was disjointed, aloof.