For 
@mariannewest in 
@freewrite
The heat, accumulated in the soil, overnight retreated and the park, where I jogged, was covered with a dense milky fog, reminiscent of a Monet painting.
Limited visibility didn’t bother me - I knew all bends of the path well. The fog even spiced my perception with an expectation that seemed to be nested in a fresh smell of the grasses and trees.
As I approached the three-quarter-loop mark I noticed the vague contours of a man sitting on the grass about twenty feet away from the path. I stopped jogging and took a couple of steps toward him.
“Is everything ok?”
“I’m ok”, the voice was old and crackled, “but my foot isn’t. I think I twisted it. Damn fog.”
Coming closer I recognized him. The old man usually proudly walked with his cane in the park.
“Why did you go off the path?” I inquired, trying to lift him off the ground.
The face of the old man grimaced with pain and frustration “No, no, not like that! From the other side.”
‘Aren’t we grouchy today?’ In my mind, I showed him a tongue.
“I go where I goddamn, please… There we go, there we go”, he commented as I was able to mount him on my back and lift him up.
I realized why he left the path when I smelled urine while bending down to help him.
“Where are you taking me?”
“I’ll carry you to that bench and then call the ambulance.”
*** ok 5 minutes is up ***