Waves, sky, trees, Essrog - I was off the page now, away from the grammar of skyscrapers and pavement. - Jonathan Lethem

The morning’s light danced on the spine of the new bridge, which towered like the guts of a cosmic piano. The same light that agitated the picture windows of the gaudy homes tumbled so recklessly into the seams of the Oakland hills.

She reassembled her deranged silent treatment of the whole of the twentieth century, but it quit before she could fire it.

I’d joined the ever-growing category of things that look better when you leave the light off.