Saturday I was helping some friends move house, this one is about that experience, though it has been embellished somewhat. There is no nefarious organization based in Kiapoi that I am part of, incase you were wondering

The fog

Fog was stratified, almost like layers of mud at the bottom of a stagnant tributary of the Kiapoi river, which slipped by underneath. The conditions were ideal, the fog, so thick as it hung there, motionless in the dawn would hide even someone as conspicuous as Wally Behan that Sunday evening (he was wearing a bright orangey shirt with a pinkish tinge) from the most inquisitive eyes. Eventually, the cargo accumulated in the hold of the barge and as the fog lifted, at last they set off downstream, wary of the other river people who were going about their business, oblivious of the audacious heist that was in progress.