will it fall apart, fade away; black to white, day to night?

Monsoon Nearing

An airy drizzle fell as I sat on the bow of the ferry, making my way across the Bali Strait. Twenty or so Indonesians sat around me, most puffing cigarettes, a few chatting with each other, their words radio static to my ears. Reclining uncomfortably on an anchored plastic chair, I locked my eyes on the horizon and watched the sky dim grey as dark clouds wrapped around the sun.

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