Sunset drags streamers over the horizon, pulls air out of the air, burns color down to ash, consuming every last obstacle of atmosphere, displacing place with time, only to kill time with space. It’s the accumulation of incident carried off for distillation. It brings seizures of realization. Not even slightly romantic in itself, it’s the wrap – sweet, sad, or muddled. It’s the truth. Because it’s the end, it’s the truth.