The conversation burned off like fog in sunlight.

... the part in her black hair glowing like a wire in the rhomboid of sunlight.

Cars creeping the other way, fog lights as dull as dirty saucers.

As she spoke she changed in some provocative way, seemed suddenly drenched in eroticism as a diver rising out of a pool gleams like chrome with a sheet of unbroken water for a fractional moment.

The fog tore apart, light charged the sea like blue neon.

... Ennis was back on his feet and somehow, as a coat hanger is straightened to open a locked car and then bent again to its original shape, they torqued things almost to where they had been, for what they'd said was no news. Nothing ended, nothing began, nothing resolved.