Sunsets are cool things. They are comfortingly non-threatening, they are poignantly evocative in their repetitive randomness, they are pretty to look at, they tell you exactly how small you are without scaring you and basically do a lot of other stuff that it’s pointless to try to put in words.
Sunsets ARE cool things.
Sunsets are also things that most people, even the RAWM, try to put in words at one time or another, in one way or another.
“Fire blob falls,” groaned one RAWM (which for the sake of simplicity we shall ingeniously name RAWM A) to another, (which we shall likewise christen RAWM B). “Pret-ty.”
“Like chopped head,” grated RAWM B. “And sky red and orange like bloody, gooey pus.”
“Clouds lit like smoke from forge of hell,” moaned RAWM A.
“Pret-ty.” RAWM B agreed. “We go kill now.”
