The sun beamed in the horizon. Its rays turning everything
it touched into gold. The road glowed. The sidewalks glittered. The blue sky
seemed to be brighter. There’s a certain angle that the setting sun passes
through on a warm September day that seems to do this. Even
the sky around the sun becomes a glimmering yellow. If you face west at this
time, everything in front of you becomes a silhouette. It’s like those buildings and
palm trees are just a shadow of a memory; the specter of a dream. It is
evenings like this that serves as a reminder of why we live here—to drive on
golden roads, to bask in the haze of a dreamy afternoon and to become a memory
lost in the sun’s rays.
