I may have mentioned this before, but I work in a shipyard that at times appears to be ripped from the pages of a Charles Dickens novel. Indeed, Charles Dickens was writing Great Expectations when this shipyard was in its neo-Industrial heyday, and Dickens' father was a clerk at a Navy pay office.
Today we were further blessed to have a nearby wildfire blanket the shipyard in soot, smoke and ash. Visibility was down to a quarter-mile and the mid-morning sun only managed to turn everything a dirty amber color. It was like my own personal live-action, old-timey photograph. I think even Pip would have been depressed.