(no subject)

Simon's standing by the window of his guest room, one arm braced against the wall at the window's edge, looking down at the city spread below under the reddening sky.

The sunset is on the other side of Crowley's building, but its low slanting glow is reflecting off countless towers of glass and silver, and off high-flying air traffic in every direction. The city lights are starting to come up, white or red or pale blue, in a latticework like honeycombs of light.

It's clean, and streamlined, and beautiful.