Red Sky at Night, Sailor's Delight.

Screeching along its tracks, the R100 is visible looking from the rooftop, chugging along as it carries passengers, burdened by their weight. The clouds are whispy and the air is cool. Air, moving along underneath them, carries the condensing dust and water particles in the same direction that the train races. Tops of smoke towers, peaking out above trees along the horizon, hinting at the factories to which they connect, foreground the sun as it sets to the west and begins to bleed the sky. Philadelphia sunsets are beautiful. Before coming to the city, there had never been another sunset on par with those particular to the Philadelphia area. Maybe LA is just too smoggy. The smoke is constantly clogging the sky, invading and changing the chemical composition of the clouds, turning sunsets bleak black-grey. The temperature grows colder. Galloping starts, it's the cat racing across the roof --THUD-- pouncing on a flittering bug. Is it a stick bug? A praying mantis? Should it be saved? Are they not endangered? Off pops its wings. Chewing disappears its thorax. Swallowing. It's done. Ethical crisis averted.