Eight stories, one massive multi-coloured cloud.
To each their own view of the mysterious cloud’s innumerable, shifting shades. For some it’s a brief distraction – snap, swipe, share – for others an excuse to party, a nuisance, an evil portent or an act of international terrorism. For an exclusive few the fog is an opportunity, a moment of enchantment and a chance to change.
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Middle-aged misanthrope Spike is spying on his neighbours, cursing the passing of time, the indie kids and his useless, crippled legs.
Alina is a polish emigrant with an unshakeable belief in art, romance and the meaning of names.
The Things are morbidly obese, housebound chain-smokers who owe it all to Granny’s gargantuan pile.
TV journalist Sara’s personal crisis crashes head on into Haruka, the most glamorous weather girl in Japan.
Octogenarian war-veteran Walter is crippled by the fear of a secret past that’s fast catching up.
Travellers Sean and Ruth are stuck, grounded by a mess of blue felt and a momentous decision.
Leila is searching for a little shit of a dog called Arthur and the last few scraps of her evanescing self.
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