Status Updates From A Visita do Brutamontes

Alex closed his eyes and listened: a storefront gate sliding down. A dog barking hoarsely. The lowing of trucks over bridges. The velvety night in his ears. And the hum, always that hum, which maybe wasn't an echo after all, but the sound of time passing.

And it may be that a crowd at a particular moment of history creates the object to justify its gathering, as it did at the first Human Be-In and Monterey Pop and Wood-stock.

Now he turned to her, grinning. Her hair and face were aflame with orange light.
"See," Sasha muttered, eyeing the sun. "It's mine."

The Safari short story is genuinely perfect. This is probably my fifth time reading it and every time it’s just magic. Hands down the best use of third person omniscient I’ve seen, and just a stunning understanding of ego and experience and growing up. I love it so dearly: my favorite section of my favorite book