The sun tells the best joke of a day full of them, setting so spectacularly that you can almost smell the tropical paradise lazing somewhere over this rim of endless, gray socialist towers. Miles of square windows explode orange, red, and purple, like a million TV sets broadcasting the apocalypse. Clouds unspool. The sky drains of birds.
Tod Wodicka, All Shall Be Well; And All Shall Be Well; And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well
apocalypse, birds, clouds, prague, sunset, tropical-paradise, windows