So the patient I had at the hospital randomly gets 10 points - he made the remarkably astute observation that the uber-haze that blanketed the city today was a unique mist-dust made up of well, mist and dust, which we later confirmed by the news on two different channels. In any case, the haze also reminded me of something that I've heard ascribed to Southwest weather but hadn't noticed till now: the eyeblink nature of changes in the sky here. The other week I was with the kickboxing instructors outside the dojo watching the most smolderingly gorgeous sunset complete with an iridescent blue rupture right above the sun, and in the space of us turning to each other to talk and turning back that entire half of the sky which had been consuming itself in light was liquid indigo and red. Today wasn't quite as colorful, but I was still startled when for one moment I couldn't see more than a couple blocks away from the hospital from the bloody seventh floor, finished a couple pages of my book, then looked up again to find mountains looming out of nowhere. Whoa.