Passing shipwrecks on my way to work. The salty smell of the sea lingers as I take my seat and boot up my computer. I live in a desert valley, and I should not be carefully maneuvering my car around sunken ships and wringing brine from my coat.
A garden of seaweed is growing up from the rocks of my xeriscaped yard. It sways as if underwater, independent of the breeze.
The sky begins to shimmer. A glittering skin above me, as if I'm underwater.
Maybe it will be gone tomorrow.
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