Run from the Mist, Cowards!

I scooted down the stoop and headed straight for the avenue, where a tall orange-and-white striped utility chimney was churning a thick plume of subterranean steam into the chilly morning air. Pedestrians were swerving awkwardly into the gutter, clutching their scarves to keep the mist off their spotless coats. I shoved my base right against the asphalt at the foot of the chimney and tilted my cavernous jaw upward. A warm, sulfurous gust of pipe condensation billowed directly into my open throat, beading tiny water droplets along my paper teeth. The crowd hurried by terrified of damp laundry, while I drank in the city's honest internal heat.