oh shit it's shit

But when fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does one day sometime after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in the way an old friend will settle into your favorite chair and take out his pipe and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has been and things he has done since last he saw you.

There was an ocean above us, held in by a thin sac that might rupture and let down a flood at any second.

There were no thunderstorms on the night it came (his) turn to walk the Green Mile. It was seasonably cold for those parts at that time of year, in the thirties, I'd guess, and a million stars spilled across used up, picked out fields where frost glittered on fenceposts and glowed like diamonds on the dry skeletons of July's corn.