short story

Fog

The Fog Lifted

Most people call me “Ash.” Mother calls me “Ashton.” On the cover of my books, I use the name “Ash Noble Siringo.”

The fog was thick in Seattle, the kind that makes you feel like you’re floating through a cloud. Pedestrians with umbrellas bumping crowded the sidewalks. I pulled my hood snugly, shivered, and stuffed bare hands into my pockets.

I write mystery novels.

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