pigments of july 8th 2015

who is stanley



ah you nasty piece of sexy shit



a corner of the night sky, beyond a wall of trees, blooms red. in the lurid, flickering light, he sees that the airplane was not alone, that the sky teems with them, a dozen swooping back and forth, racing in all directions, and in a moment of disorientation, he feels that he's looking not up but down, as though a spotlight has been shined into a wedge of bloodshot water, and the sky has become the sea, and the airplanes are hungry fish, harrying their prey in the dark

all the light we cannot see, anthony doerr