There aren’t any warnings. 
 
That said, the minute we get off the phone, the fog-enclosure switches back. I don’t think like that. Don’t believe that, impetuously. Never
happened. 
I can’t tell you I don’t care, on the inside.  
 
Outside, a panel membrane, the third largest seller, floats me into the future, desiring vague change, like our plebiscite, better to pump out to voices’ grasp. A normal life with submerged artifacts accrues Pascal highlights.