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Show 287 slips-which were visible from the highway on the mainland-so that when a resident wanted to go out on the ocean, he had simply to walk down the stairs from his kitchen, like walking down into a basement, and climb into his boat. Now, though, she could not imagine living in one of these places, it was beyond her. It had been easier to imagine as a child: with a private boat for Robbie and her, which they would climb into of a Sunday morning, and sail out into the bay and onto the wide ocean of the world. She drove on, the heavy fog recasting the once familiar landmarks, the walls and buildings which were such a part of her at one time, into objects which were at once familiar, but strange. With an eerie strangeness. She had never been down here in such a fog. Everything was so strange-and yet, so familiar. Until suddenly she was nudged-partly, anyway-into another reality: why she had been here before! On this day, driving this car, through this close fog. Yes, she could remember it now. And ahead, somewhere down this very road, something-an experience-was waiting for her. A revelation? She could sense its approach. Deja vu. Of course, it was deja vu. And she drove on, with a sense of expectation. Occasionally, one of the gates in the walls would be open, and she would slow down to peek inside, where there was often parked a foreign sports car, small, red or yellow or green, sometimes silver-sitting there among the wisps of fog. She never saw any people. And then she had completed the loop, she was coming back up on the island side, and there had been no revelation. It had ended like |